AROM 
MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

THE  REMINISCENCES  OF 

CARMEN  SYLVA 

H.  M\  QUEEN  ELISABETH  OF  ROUMANIA 


UlRARY 

DIVERSITY  OF 
CjUIFORNIA 

S#N  DIEGO 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DlfifiC 

LA  JOLLA,  CALIFORNIA 

OR  ?54  A?53 

lllll  mi  iiiii  mi  111 


3   1822  01203  0474 


I 


Social  Sciences  &  Humanities  Library 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 
Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall. 

Date  Due 

tzzc*  7.rw; 

' 

L 

CI  39  (2/95) 

UCSD  Lb. 

FROM    MEMORY'S    SHRINE 


CONTEOTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

Introduction 9 

I.    Clara  Schumann 13 

II.    Grandmamma 30 

III.  Ernst  Moritz  Arndt 60 

IV.  Bernays  69 

V.    Two  Old  Retainers 85 

VI.    Fanny  Lavater 97 

VII.     Bunsen 119 

VIII.    Perthes 139 

IX.    A  Faith-Healer 151 

X.    Mary  Barnes 175 

XI.    The  Family  Valette 181 

XII.    Karl  Sohn,  the  Portrait-Painter 192 

XIII.    Weizchen 203 

XTV.    A  Group  of  Humble  Friends 217 

XV.    My  Tutors 232 

XVI.    Marie 243 

XVII.    My  Brother  Otto 251 


ILLTJSTKATIOlSrS 


PAGE 


Carmen  Sylva Frontispiece 

Madame  Schumann 16 

H.  M.  King  Charles  of  Roumania 28 

Royal  Palace  at  Bucarest 64 

A  Queen  at  Her  Loom 94 

H.  M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 140 

H.  M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 182 

H.  M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 218 

Prince  Otto  zu  Wied 252 


FROM 

MEMORY'S    SHRINK 

INTRODUCTION 

It  has  been  said  by  a  well-known  German  novelist 
of  our  day  in  one  of  his  most  recent  works  that  as 
we  approach  our  fiftieth  year  our  hearts  nearly 
always  resemble  a  grave-yard,  thronged  with  mem- 
ories, a  far  greater  share  of  our  affection  belonging 
by  that  time  to  those  who  are  already  at  rest  be- 
neath the  earth  than  may  be  claimed  by  those  still 
left  here  to  wander  with  us  on  its  surface.  This 
remark  of  Kosegger's  is  above  all  true  of  such  of  us 
as  have  been  accustomed  from  our  earliest  youth  to 
stand  mourning  beside  new-made  graves,  and  see 
our  nearest  and  dearest  prematurely  carried  off  in 
Death's  relentless  grasp. 

It  is  in  this  cemetery  of  mine,  sacred  to  the  mem- 
ory of  all  whom  I  have  loved  and  lost,  that  I  would 
linger  this  day,  holding  commune  as  is  my  wont  with 
my  beloved  dead ;  but  for  once  I  would  not  that  my 
pilgrimage  were  altogether  a  solitary  one.  As  in 
thought  I  stand  before  each  grave  in  turn,  gazing 
with  the  spirit's  eyes  on  the  dear  form  so  clearly 
recognisable  under  the  flowers  I  have  strewn  above 
it,  I  would  fain  retrace  for  others  than  myself  every 
line  of  the  features  I  know  so  well,  that  all  you  to 

9 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

whom  I  speak  may  learn  to  know  and  love  them  also. 
Even  the  best  are  all  too  soon  forgotten  in  this  busy, 
restless  world,  but  it  may  be  that  my  words,  coming 
from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  will  strike  a  responsive 
chord  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  read  them,  and 
kindling  in  their  breasts  a  feeling  like  my  own,  will 
keep  alive  for  a  little  space  these  figures  I  call  back 
from  the  shadowy  Past.  My  aim  will  be  achieved 
if  I  can  but  convey  to  other  souls  something  of  the 
impression  my  own  received  from  the  noble  and 
beautiful  lives  with  whom  I  have  come  in  contact, 
and  which  my  pen  will  now  strive  with  the  utmost 
fidelity  to  portray. 

I  am  about,  then,  to  throw  open  the  sanctuary  I 
have  so  long  jealously  guarded  from  the  world — the 
private  chapel  within  whose  niches  my  Penates  are 
enshrined.  Those  to  whom  I  pay  a  constant  tribute 
of  love  and  gratitude  were  either  the  idols  of  my 
early  youth  or  the  friends  of  riper  years.  I  shall 
try  to  show  them  as  they  appeared  to  me  on  earth, 
in  every  varying  aspect,  according  to  season  and 
circumstance,  and  to  the  changes  of  my  own  mood 
and  habits  of  thought  during  the  different  stages 
of  my  mental  development.  To  my  youthful 
enthusiasm  many  of  them  became  types  of  perfec- 
tion, in  whom  I  could  discern  no  human  weakness — 
to  have  known  them  was  my  pride  and  happiness. 
All  that  was  best  in  myself  I  attributed  to  their 
influence,  and  their  presence  has  never  ceased  to 
dwell  with  me  since  they  have  been  removed  to 
higher  spheres.  They,  on  whose  lips  I  hung  with 
such  rapt  attention,  drinking  in  every  word  that  fell 

10 


INTRODUCTION 

from  them,  very  possibly  paid  but  small  heed  to  the 
silent,  earnest-eyed  child,  nor  guessed  how  fondly 
those  lessons  of  wisdom  and  holiness  were  being 
treasured  up  in  that  little  heart.  For  to  none  of  us 
is  it  ever  given  to  know  the  precise  hour  in  which 
our  own  soul  has  spoken  most  clearly  and  forcibly 
to  another  soul,  nor  to  fathom  the  full  import  of  the 
message  with  which  we  are  entrusted  towards  our 
brethren.  We  cast  our  bread  upon  the  waters  of 
life,  not  knowing  its  destination,  and  the  seed  we 
scatter  with  a  lavish  hand  is  borne  in  all  directions 
by  the  winds  to  take  root  it  may  be  in  the  soil  we 
should  have  deemed  least  fit  for  culture.  Children 
often  observe  more  keenly  and  reflect  more  thought- 
fully than  their  elders  would  give  them  credit  for. 
We  need  but  look  back  each  of  us  to  our  own  child- 
hood, in  order  rightly  to  understand  how  deep  and 
lasting  are  the  impressions  then  received,  and  how 
they  may  colour  the  whole  after-current  of  our  lives. 
Now,  as  I  recall  those  days,  I  feel  myself,  as  it  were, 
suddenly  transported  into  the  midst  of  an  enchanted 
garden,  among  whose  rare  and  luxuriant  blossoms 
I  would  fain  gather  together  the  fairest  specimens 
for  a  garland.  But  they  spring  up  around  me  in 
such  wild  profusion,  and  their  beauty  is  so  radiant, 
their  colours  so  rich,  their  fragrance  so  intense,  that 
I  am  embarrassed  in  my  choice,  and  only  stretch 
out  my  hand  timidly  and  hesitatingly  towards  them, 
fearing  lest  in  plucking  I  should  injure  the  least  of 
these  fairest  works  of  Creation.  Well,  indeed,  may 
I  feel  diffident  as  to  my  own  skill  in  selecting  and 
grouping  them  aright. 

11 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Yet,  though  the  skill  be  lacking,  goodwill  and 
sincerity  I  may  at  least  claim  to  bring  with  me  in 
full  measure  to  my  labour  of  love.  It  is  no  mixture 
of  Fact  and  Fiction  I  would  here  compile,  nothing 
but  the  simple,  unadorned  Truth,  things  I  have  my- 
self seen  and  heard.  Not  that  I  would  have  these 
pages  resemble  memoirs,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of 
the  word,  for  what  are  memoirs  at  the  best  but  a 
superior  sort  of  gossip — when  they  are  not,  that 
is  to  say,  simply  gossip  of  a  despicable  kind!  No 
mysteries  will  be  here  unveiled,  no  scandalous 
secrets  dragged  to  light.  I  do  but  propose  to  draw 
back  the  curtain  from  before  the  picture-gallery 
within  whose  sacred  precincts  I  have  until  now 
allowed  no  other  footsteps  than  my  own  to  stray,  so 
that  all  who  will  may  render  homage  with  me  to  the 
moral  and  intellectual  value  of  the  lives  these  por- 
traits strive  to  commemorate. 


CHAPTER  I 

CLARA  SCHUMANN 

It  is  but  fitting  and  natural  that  I  should  open 
with  this  revered  name  the  series  of  my  reminis- 
cences, as  my  childish  recollections  hardly  go  fur- 
ther back  than  the  date  of  the  first  time  I  heard 
her,  when  I  was  only  eight  years  old,  at  my  very  first 
concert  in  Bonn.  That  was  so  great  an  event  in 
my  life,  and  I  was  so  impatient  for  the  evening  to 
come,  that  I  hardly  know  how  I  got  through  the 
whole  day  that  preceded  it.  Seldom  has  any  day 
since  appeared  so  interminably  long.  Still,  the 
evening  did  come  at  last,  and  I  remember  accom- 
panying my  mother  to  the  concert-room,  into  which 
she  was  wheeled  in  her  invalid-chair,  for,  although 
still  quite  young,  she  had  been  for  many  years  in 
ill-health  and  unable  to  walk.  But  whether  I  walked 
by  her  side,  or  how  I  got  there,  I  no  longer  know, 
for  I  have  only  a  sort  of  confused  recollection  of 
having  been  brought  there  without  any  effort  on 
my  own  part,  as  though  I  had  been  borne  thither 
on  wings!  My  first  concert!  My  heart  still  beats 
loud  when  I  think  of  it. 

It  was  a  big,  crowded  room  we  entered.  But  I 
did  not  see  the  people.  I  paid  no  attention  to  any- 
body. I  saw  nothing  but  the  estrade  on  which  the 
piano  was  placed.  Our  seats  were  so  far  to  the 
right  that,  small  as  I  was,  I  should  not  have  seen  the 
pianist  at  all  had  I  not  obtained  my  mother's  per- 

13 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

mission  to  establish  my  diminutive  person  in  the 
passage  left  between  the  two  rows  of  seats,  where  I 
had  a  full  view  of  the  keyboard.  I  was  all  eyes,  all 
ears,  quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  intense  ner- 
vous expectation.  At  last  Madame  Schumann  came 
in,  and,  advancing  swiftly  to  the  instrument,  sat 
down  before  it.  She  was  dressed  in  black  velvet, 
with  a  single  deep-red  rose  stuck  low  behind  one  ear 
in  her  dark  hair,  which  was  very  thick  and  inclined 
to  curl,  and  which  she  wore  plainly  parted  and  flat 
to  the  head,  instead  of  having  it  according  to  the 
fashion  of  those  days  twisted  to  stand  out  on  each 
side  of  the  face.  What  struck  me  at  once  was  some- 
thing harmonious  in  her  whole  appearance;  it 
always  seemed  to  me  afterwards  as  if  her  dress  must 
have  been  crimson  too,  to  match  the  rose  in  her  hair. 
Her  hands  were  small,  firm  and  plump,  the  touch 
full,  healthy  and  vigorous,  almost  of  virile  strength. 
I  carried  the  rich,  clear  tones  away  with  me,  to  ring 
in  my  ears  for  long  afterwards.  But  that  which 
went  straight  to  my  heart,  and  haunted  me  longer 
still,  was  the  pathetic  look  in  her  eyes. 

Leaning  a  little  forward,  bending  as  it  were  over 
the  keys,  as  if  to  be  alone  with  her  own  music  and 
the  better  to  hear  herself,  apparently  utterly  obliv- 
ious of  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  player  kept  her 
magnificent,  melancholy  eyes  persistently  cast  down. 
But  I  could  see  those  wonderful  eyes,  and  her  sad- 
ness impressed  me  so  much  that  it  almost  spoilt  my 
pleasure  in  the  music,  for  I  was  wondering  all  the 
time  how  it  could  be  that  anyone  who  played  so 
divinely  could  all  the  same  look  so  unutterably  sad. 

14 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

I  did  not  then  know  her  unhappy  story;  I  had  not 
heard  how  her  husband  had  gone  out  of  his  mind, 
leaving  her  penniless,  with  a  large  family  to  provide 
for,  and  that  it  was,  indeed,  to  provide  her  children's 
daily  bread  that  she  thus  played  in  public.  It  did 
not  occur  to  me  that  anyone  could  be  poor  who  wore 
a  velvet  dress.  Besides  it  was  impossible  to  my 
childish  mind  to  conceive  that  any  artist  could  be 
poor.  On  the  contrary,  I  looked  upon  them  all  as 
being  fabulously  rich,  as  having  all  the  treasures  of 
the  universe  at  their  disposal.  Those  beliefs  were 
natural  to  my  age,  for  in  childhood  Romance  is  Real- 
ity, and  Reality  a  very  poor  sort  of  Romance !  Have 
we  not  been  all  of  us  the  heroes  of  our  own  fairy- 
tales!— either  Aladdin  or  Robinson  Crusoe,  and 
more  often  Crusoe  on  his  island  than  Aladdin  in 
the  magic  cave,  since  at  that  time  of  life  the  riches 
of  this  world  appeal  very  feebly  to  our  imagination. 
But  for  the  pathetic  expression  of  a  pair  of 
dreamy  eyes  my  mind  was  sufficiently  receptive, 
sorrow  and  heartache  being  already  only  too  famil- 
iar to  me.  My  mother,  as  I  have  mentioned,  was 
at  that  time  an  invalid,  my  younger  brother  had 
been  a  sufferer  from  his  birth,  and  my  father  was 
slowly  dying  of  consumption.  The  daily  spectacle 
of  pain  and  illness  may  well  open  a  child's  eyes  to 
the  expression  of  suffering  in  other  human  faces. 
But  as  I  was  always  a  very  reserved  child,  accus- 
tomed to  keep  all  puzzling  problems  to  myself  and 
brood  over  them  in  silence,  I  asked  no  questions,  and 
consequently  learnt  nothing  about  my  new  idol  nor 
even  suspected  the  existence  of  a  domestic  tragedy. 

15 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Schumann's  works  were  at  that  time  a  sealed  book 
for  me,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  simple  pieces, 
intended  for  children.  And  children's  pieces  were 
not  what  I  cared  about.  I  only  wanted  Beethoven ! 
After  that  I  did  not  see  her  again  for  many  years 
— till  I  was  grown  up,  a  girl  of  twenty,  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. I  was  just  recovering  from  an  illness,  and  it 
was  whilst  I  was  still  so  weak  that  I  could  hardly 
stand,  that  I  had  the  sudden  news  of  my  dear 
father's  death.  The  blow  was  such  an  overwhelm- 
ing one,  I  felt  at  first  as  if  everything  in  life  were 
over  for  me,  and  that  I  should  never  take  pleasure 
in  anything  again.  And  just  then  Mme.  Schumann 
arrived  with  her  daughter  Marie.  The  Grand 
Duchess  Helene,  in  whom  so  many  artists  had  found 
a  true  friend  and  enlightened  patroness,  hastened 
to  place  rooms  in  her  palace  at  the  disposal  of  the 
celebrated  pianist.  So  mother  and  daughter,  to  my 
unspeakable  joy  and  consolation,  took  up  their  abode 
with  us  for  seven  weeks,  and  were  lodged  in  the 
suite  of  apartments  just  above  my  own.  Whenever 
she  was  going  to  practise,  Mme.  Schumann  would 
send  word  to  me,  and  then  I  would  manage  to  drag 
myself  upstairs,  and  let  myself  be  propped  up  by 
cushions  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  where  I  could 
listen  undisturbed.  It  was  as  if  I  were  being  slowly 
awakened  from  a  deathlike  trance,  and  being  brought 
back  to  an  interest  in  life  again  by  the  strains  of 
that  exquisite  music.  Better  still,  my  aunt  very 
soon  arranged  for  me  to  take  some  piano-lessons  of 
this  great  artist,  and  these  mark  quite  an  epoch  in 
my  life.     They  were  certainly  quite  exceptional  les- 


By  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Breitkopf  &  H artel,  54  Great  Marlborough  Street,  London,  W. 

Madame  Schumann 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

sons  in  every  way,  altogether  unlike  everything  else 
of  that  nature,  for  at  first  I  was  almost  too  feeble 
to  hold  my  fingers  on  the  keys.  But  my  dear  pro- 
fessor soon  found  something  for  me,  to  which  my 
strength  was  just  equal — Schumann's  delicious 
" Scenes  of  Childhood'' — and  from  these  we  went  on 
little  by  little  to  higher  flights.  But  it  was  not  alone 
for  the  progress  in  my  music  that  these  hours  were 
of  inestimable  value ;  I  look  back  to  them  as  having 
left  their  mark  on  the  whole  course  of  my  life  ever 
since,  for  I  was  roused  from  my  own  lethargy  and 
despondency  by  learning  the  trials  through  which 
my  new  friend  had  passed.  This  noble-minded 
woman  could,  indeed,  have  hit  upon  no  better  lesson 
in  fortitude  than  that  which  was  contained  in  the 
simple  story  of  her  own  youth,  as  calmly  and  un- 
affectedly she  told  her  young  companion  of  the  catas- 
trophe which  had  wrecked  her  life.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  revelation  to  me,  this  glimpse  into  the  workings  of 
another  soul,  whose  sufferings  I  had  never  even  sus- 
pected. The  simple  words  in  which  the  tale  was 
told  wrung  my  heart  more  than  any  studied  elo- 
quence could  have  done,  and  I  blushed  to  think  that 
I  had  dared  to  wrap  myself  up  in  my  own  sorrow, 
as  if  I  were  the  only  sufferer  in  the  world.  I  learnt 
from  her  how  much  another  had  borne  silently,  un- 
complainingly, and  I  understood  how  duty  may  often 
call  upon  us  to  take  up  our  burden  and  resume  the 
daily  struggle  before  our  wounds  are  yet  healed, 
instead  of  giving  ourselves  up  to  the  luxury  of 
grief.  I  will  try,  as  far  as  I  can,  to  give  Clara 
Schumann's  story  in  her  own  words,  as  she  told 
2  17 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

it  to  me,  in  the  long  conversations  we  held  in  those 
unforgettable  hours.  She  spoke  of  her  childhood, 
for  her  troubles  began  early;  her  parents  were 
separated,  and  the  little  girl  never  knew  a  really- 
happy  home.  In  spite  of  the  slight  deafness,  with 
which  she  was  troubled  from  her  earliest  years,  her 
father  insisted  on  having  her  trained  as  a  musician, 
and  she  was  prepared  to  make  her  appearance  in 
public  when  she  was  only  twelve  years  old.  ' '  It  was 
all  very  hard, ' '  she  related, ' '  for  I  adored  my  mother, 
whom  I  hardly  ever  saw.  I  remember  my  father 
once  taking  me  to  Berlin  to  pay  her  a  visit,  and  the 
way  in  which  he  flung  the  door  open,  with  the  words : 
'Here,  madam,  I  have  brought  your  daughter  to 
see  you!'  Yes,  those  were  hard  circumstances  for 
me,  and  the  more  so,  as  he  had  married  again,  and 
my  stepmother  was  anything  but  kindly  disposed 
towards  me." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  her  expression  changed  as 
she  went  on  to  tell  of  her  love-idyl  and  early  mar- 
riage. This  was  a  dreamy  look  in  her  eyes,  and  an 
arch  smile  on  her  lips  that  made  her  face  quite 
young  again,  while  she  spoke  of  those  bygone  days 
of  short-lived  happiness. 

''It  was  when  I  was  only  fourteen, "she  said, "that 
Robert  Schumann  first  became  a  visitor  at  our  house. 
He  was  then  just  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  very 
soon  we  two  young  people  had  fallen  in  love,  and 
even  become  secretly  engaged.  Secretly,  I  need 
hardly  say,  so  frightened  was  I  of  my  father,  who, 
for  his  part,  had  constantly  announced  that  he  had 
his  own  quite  fixed  plans  for  my  future." 

18 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

Again  she  paused,  and  seemed  for  a  moment 
plunged  in  memories  of  the  past.  I  did  not  disturb 
her  with  questions,  but  waited  for  her  to  go  on  with 
her  narrative,  and  it  was  with  merriment  once  more 
rippling  over  her  face  that  she  related  some  of  the 
more  amusing  scenes  in  the  drama. 

"Four  years  later  it  had  come  to  open  war  between 
my  affianced  husband  and  my  father,  and  I  remem- 
ber having  to  appear  between  them  in  the  court  of 
law,  in  which  the  struggle  for  my  person  was  being 
decided.  Schumann  proved  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  the  court  that  he  was  of  age,  and  perfectly 
well  able  to  support  a  wife,  whilst  my  father,  hav- 
ing no  just  ground  for  his  refusal,  simply  loaded 
him  with  insult.  The  decision  was  accordingly 
given  in  our  favour,  and  we  were  legally  authorised 
to  become  man  and  wife.  At  this  my  father's  rage 
literally  knew  no  bounds.  Had  he  not  often  sworn 
that  his  daughter  should  never  marry  a  beggarly 
musician,  that  he  would  hardly  consider  a  prince 
good  enough  for  her!  So  he  turned  me  out  of  the 
house,  refusing  even  to  let  me  take  my  own  few 
possessions  with  me,  my  stepmother  going  so  far 
as  to  tear  off  my  finger  a  little  ring  I  always  wore, 
as  it  had  been  my  mother's,  but  which  she  now  gave 
to  her  own  daughter.  Thus  was  I  cast  out  of  my 
father's  house,  and  from  the  moment  the  door  closed 
behind  me  I  never  saw  his  face  again,  nor  ever  heard 
a  word  more  from  him.  It  was  as  if  I  were  really 
dead  to  him  henceforth.  But  I  did  not  grieve.  It 
was  by  my  husband's  side  that  I  wandered  forth, 

19 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

happy  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  our  mutual  affection. 

' '  The  ten  years  that  followed  were  years  of  happi- 
ness indeed,  of  such  happiness  as  it  is  rarely  given 
to  mortals  to  know  on  earth.  I  lived  for  my  hus- 
band alone,  entirely  wrapt  up  in  him.  I  watched 
every  change  in  his  countenance,  I  studied  his  every 
mood,  and  had  so  thoroughly  identified  myself  with 
him  that  my  own  brain  was  on  the  verge  of  becoming 
affected  too,  when  his  began  to  give  way.  I  did  not 
understand  at  first  that  there  was  anything  the  mat- 
ter with  him,  and  continued  to  take  pride  as  ever  in 
following  and  participating  in  every  phase  through 
which  his  mind  passed.  But  that  mind  was  darken- 
ing, although  I  knew  it  not.  His  fits  of  melancholy 
grew  more  frequent  and  of  longer  duration,  as 
though  a  baleful  shadow  had  fallen  across  his  soul. 
One  night  he  suddenly  awakened  me,  begging  me  to 
get  up,  to  leave  him,  to  stay  no  longer  in  the  room. 
Astonished  and  alarmed,  but  accustomed  to  obey 
his  lightest  wish  in  all  things,  I  complied  with  the 
strange  request.  Next  day  he  told  me  that  it  was 
his  fears  for  me,  for  my  safety,  which  had  induced 
him  to  send  me  from  him.  'I  feared  lest  I  should 
hurt  you!'  he  groaned.  For  he  felt  that  he  was 
gradually  losing  all  control  over  his  own  actions, 
that  something  outside  himself  was  continually  urg- 
ing him  to  violence  against  those  whom  he  loved  best 
i t i  the  world.  Musical  phantasies  mixed  themselves 
with  the  rest.  Thus  he  was  for  ever  imagining  that 
he  heard  sounds,  sometimes  just  one  note  of  music 
perpetually  repeated,  and  then  again  the  tones  would 

20 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

be  modulated,  and  vary,  and  combine  and  weave 
themselves  into  melody!  And  these  snatches  of 
melody  he  still  noted  down.  But  worse  was  at  hand, 
for  the  day  soon  came,  the  terrible  day,  which  put 
an  end  to  all  my  earthly  happiness,  and  after  which 
it  was  no  longer  possible  to  conceal  the  truth  from 
myself  and  others.  My  dear,  unfortunate  husband 
had  managed  to  steal  out  of  the  house  unperceived, 
and  had  attempted  to  drown  himself  in  the  Rhine! 
He  was  saved,  but  I  was  not  allowed  to  see  him 
again.  It  was  said  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for 
him,  for  both  of  us.  But  he  sent  me  a  most  touching 
message,  begging  me  to  forgive  him  the  pain  which 
he  knew  he  must  have  caused  me,  and  explaining 
how  it  was  that  he  could  not  have  acted  otherwise — 
he  felt  that  it  was  the  only  means  of  saving  us  both 
much  trouble  and  sorrow.  It  almost  broke  my  heart 
to  hear  this. 

"Indeed,  at  first  I  could  do  nothing  but  sit  and 
cry  my  eyes  out  at  the  immensity  of  the  misfortune 
which  had  come  upon  me.  I  was  alone  in  the  world, 
with  my  helpless  little  ones,  for  he  who  had  been  our 
protection  and  support  was  himself  now  the  most 
helpless  of  all.  But  it  was  the  very  immensity  of 
my  misfortune  which  roused  me  out  of  the  apathy 
into  which  I  had  fallen,  as  I  realised  the  necessity 
of  an  effort  on  my  part  for  all  these  weak  and  help- 
less ones,  who  now  depended  solely  on  me.  To  my 
father  I  did  not  dare  to  appeal,  and  even  now,  in 
my  dire  distress,  he  gave  no  sign,  sent  me  no  word  of 
kindness.  But  other  friends  took  active  steps  to 
help  me,  and  with  their  assistance,  thanks  to  the 

21 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

sums  they  collected  for  me,  I  was  able  to  put  my 
affairs  in  order,  and  start  giving  concerts  to  support 
my  family.  So  things  went  on  for  the  next  three 
years ;  I  travelled  about,  playing  in  all  the  principal 
towns  in  Europe,  and  my  husband  remained  under 
the  care  of  a  doctor  in  Bonn.  All  this  time  I  never 
once  saw  him,  although  I  was  always  entreating  to 
be  allowed  to  do  so. 

"Then  one  day,  just  as  I  was  about  to  give  a  con- 
cert in  London,  I  suddenly  received  a  letter,  inform- 
ing me  that  my  husband  had  only  a  few  days  more 
to  live,  that  I  must  hurry  back  if  I  wished  to  be  in 
time  to  see  him  once  more!  And  like  this  I  had  to 
let  myself  be  taken  to  the  concert-room,  and  like 
this  I  played!  People  have  since  told  me  that  I 
never  played  so  well  in  my  whole  life.  Of  that  I 
know  nothing.  I  went  through  my  work  mechanic- 
ally, feeling  half  dazed,  neither  knowing  nor  caring 
what  or  how  I  played,  and  not  a  note  of  the  music 
reaching  my  own  ears.  At  the  end  the  whole  room 
seemed  to  spin  round  before  my  eyes,  but  I  made  my 
way  out  somehow,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  was 
already  on  my  way  to  Bonn. 

"When  I  arrived  I  was  at  first  refused  entrance 
to  the  room.  But  my  mind  was  fully  made  up.  I 
was  determined  that  no  power  on  earth  should  now 
keep  us  longer  apart.  I  simply  said :  'If  he  is  really 
dying,  then  my  presence  can  harm  him  no  longer, 
and  T  insist  upon  being  admitted!'  So  they  let  me 
in.  But  it  was  a  terrible  shock  to  see  him,  so 
changed  that  at  first  I  should  hardly  have  known 
him.  Only  his  eyes,  those  dear,  loving  eyes,  were  still 

22 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

the  same,  and  as  they  fixed  themselves  on  me  I  had 
the  happiness  of  seeing  the  full  light  of  recognition 
come  back  to  them.  'Ah!  my  own!'  he  exclaimed, 
stretching  out  his  arms  toward  me.  He  was  fright- 
fully weak,  having  of  late  refused  all  nourishment, 
under  the  delusion  that  the  attendants  wished  to 
poison  him.  I  could,  however,  prevail  on  him  to 
take  a  little  food  when  I  brought  it  to  him,  and  his 
eyes  never  left  me,  following  my  every  movement. 
In  the  midst  of  my  sorrow  I  yet  felt  a  contentment 
at  my  heart  that  I  had  not  known  during  these  last 
years,  whilst  I  was  separated  from  him.  I  might 
almost  say  I  was  happy  once  more,  just  in  being 
with  him,  and  in  feeling  that  his  affection  was  un- 
changed. But  it  could  not  last  long — his  strength 
was  ebbing  fast — soon  came  the  last  parting,  and 
then  all  was  over,  and  I  was  really  alone  in  the  wide 
world,  with  my  poor,  fatherless  children!" 

She  broke  down  completely  on  these  last  words, 
and  for  some  minutes  we  sat  together  in  perfect 
silence,  my  tears  flowing  in  sympathy,  for  I  was 
deeply  moved  at  witnessing  her  grief.  Her  story 
was  made  the  more  touching  by  the  simplicity  with 
which  it  was  told ;  this  went  to  my  heart  more  surely 
than  the  most  studied  eloquence.  And  it  was  ever 
the  one  theme — always  of  him  she  spoke !  She  came 
back  constantly  to  this  one  period  of  life,  as  if  all 
the  rest — everything  that  had  taken  place  since — did 
not  count  at  all.  Evidently  her  own  life  had  come 
to  an  end  for  her  when  her  husband  died.  If  she 
lived  on  at  all  it  was  simply  in  the  idea  of  contribut- 
ing to  raise  a  monument  to  his  fame.    She  was 

23 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

really  quivering  with  indignation  when  she  related 
how  on  one  occasion,  after  one  of  her  recitals,  a  lady 
had  actually  asked  her  if  her  husband  had  not  also 
been  a  pianist?  But  my  contemptuous  exclamation, 
"  Oh,  the  poor  thing!"  made  her  smile  in  spite  of 
herself.  I  remember,  too,  how  I  could  never  satisfy 
her  with  my  rendering  of  the  little  piece  called 
"Happiness  enough."  She  was  always  entreating 
me  to  put  more  fullness  and  softness  into  it,  to  make 
it  overflow,  so  to  say,  with  happiness.  And  in  the 
depths  of  her  eyes  I  read  the  triumphant  certitude 
that  this  music  told  the  happiness  that  had  once  been 
hers,  and  that  to  none  other  would  it  ever  be  given 
to  express  it  as  she  could.  Ah !  those  were  precious 
hours,  indeed,  which  I  passed  with  her,  and  the 
lessons  were  something  much  more  to  me  than  mere 
music-lessons,  for  even  greater  and  nobler  than  the 
artist  was  the  woman  I  learnt  to  know  in  them. 

In  the  month  of  May  we  went  to  Moscow,  and  it 
was  there  I  heard  Schumann's  Variations  for  two 
pianos  played  by  Mme.  Schumann  and  Nicolas 
Rubinstein.  The  latter  was  an  admirable  pianist, 
gifted  with  great  delicacy  and  depth  of  feeling,  and 
if  without  the  fiery,  almost  demoniacal,  inspiration 
that  distinguished  his  brother's  playing,  this  for 
the  duet  on  two  pianos  was  rather  an  advantage  than 
otherwise. 

After  that  several  years  passed  before  I  saw 
Mme.  Schumann  again,  and  then  it  being  announced 
that  she  would  appear  at  a  concert  in  Cologne  with 
Stockhausen,  my  mother  and  I  went  over  for  it.  We 
went  early  in  the  day,  so  as  to  be  in  time  for  the  last 

24 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

rehearsal,  but  at  this  we  had  the  disappointment  of 
not  hearing  Mme.  Schumann,  for  she  had  met  with 
a  slight  accident,  which  obliged  her  to  rest  till  the 
evening,  and  her  place  at  the  piano  was  taken  by 
Brahms.  In  spite  of  her  absence,  it  was  all  the 
same  a  most  interesting  rehearsal.  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  Brahms  play  and  Stockhausen  sing, 
and  enjoyed  everything  immensely.  I  could  not 
help  noticing,  however,  that  my  mother's  thoughts 
were  entirely  elsewhere,  and  it  annoyed  me  that  she 
should  let  anything  distract  her  attention  from  the 
glorious  music.  Nor  did  we  stay  quite  to  the  end, 
much  to  my  disappointment,  but  drove  off  to  the 
Flora-garden,  and  lunched  there.  And  as  we  sat 
there,  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  we  seemed  to 
attract  the  attention  of  a  little  group  of  gentlemen, 
strangers,  as  I  thought  them,  who  were  walking 
up  and  down,  and  one  of  whom  at  last  seated  himself 
at  a  little  table  quite  close  to  ours,  looking  at  me  so 
hard,  that  I  slightly  turned  away  from  him.  But 
when  we  rose  to  leave,  they  all  three  came  up  to  us, 
and  we  recognised  Herr  von  Werner,  whose  ac- 
quaintance we  had  made  at  Prince  Hohenzollem's 
whilst  his  two  companions  were  none  other  than  the 
young  Prince  of  Roumania,  and  the  latter 's  repre- 
sentative in  Paris,  the  last  mentioned  being  the 
gentleman  who  had  just  been  observing  me  so 
closely.  But  I  was  sincerely  glad  to  meet  the  young 
Prince  again,  for  I  had  seen  much  of  him  in  Berlin 
some  years  before,  and  was  full  of  admiration  for 
the  adventurous  spirit  and  strong  sense  of  duty  in 
which  he  had  entered  on  his  task  in  his  new  country. 

25 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

So  I  welcomed  with  pleasure  the  opportunit3r  of  talk- 
ing to  him  again,  and  walked  on  ahead  with  him, 
discussing  all  sorts  of  things,  my  mother  following 
with  the  two  other  gentlemen.  We  wandered  from 
the  "Flora"  to  the  Zoological  Gardens,  and  after 
a  long  hunt  for  the  monkey  house,  found  the  little 
creatures  already  installed  in  their  winter  quarters. 
I  remember  holding  out  my  hand  to  one  of  them, 
rather  to  the  horror  of  the  Prince,  who  protested 
against  seeing  my  finger  clasped  in  the  rough  little 
brown  paw.  But  the  time  had  passed  so  quickly, 
and  I  found  my  companion's  conversation  so  inter- 
esting,— (he  said  afterwards  that  I  told  him  his 
political  views  were  quite  Machiavellian!) — two 
hours  had  gone  by  before  we  got  into  the  carriage 
again,  and  as  we  drove  away,  I  exclaimed : — ' '  There 
is  somebody  with  whom  one  can  enjoy  talking!  He 
is  really  a  charming  young  man!"  My  mother  said 
nothing  at  all.  We  stopped  at  Mme.  Schumann's, 
for  I  was  determined  to  have  a  little  talk  with  her 
before  the  evening, — merely  to  see  her  at  the  concert 
would  not  have  satisfied  me  at  all.  The  dear  old 
days  in  St.  Petersburg  were  a  little  brought  back  to 
me,  as  I  sat  holding  her  hand,  and  listening  to  all 
she  had  to  tell  us  of  what  had  happened  since  we 
last  met.  But  she  was  somewhat  depressed,  having 
just  parted  with  her  third  daughter  who  had  recently 
married  an  Italian  Count,  and  unable  to  resign  her- 
self to  the  separation.  "Only  think  what  it  means," 
she  said  to  my  mother, — "to  have  brought  up  one's 
child,  loved  and  cared  for  her  all  these  years,  and 
then  some  stranger  comes  along,  and  carries  her  off, 
one  knows  not  to  what!"    Again  my  mother  kept 

26 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

silence,  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  there  was 
quite  a  strange  expression  on  her  face.  When  we 
left,  there  was  only  just  time  to  dress  for  the  con- 
cert. My  toilette  was  very  hurriedly  made,  in  spite 
of  the  satisfaction  I  felt  in  the  very  pretty  and  be- 
coming dress — a  white  flowered  silk  over  a  pale  blue 
underskirt — which  I  was  to  wear,  for  my  one  fear 
was  of  missing  any  of  the  music!  But  whilst  I 
was  dressing,  the  Prince  of  Roumania  had  been 
announced,  and  stayed,  and  stayed,  and  I  could 
hardly  control  my  impatience,  till  at  last  I  heard 
him  leave,  and  rushed  to  my  mother,  to  hurry  her. 
But  the  serious  look  with  which  she  met  me  checked 
the  impatient  exclamation  on  my  lips.  Taking  my 
arm  in  hers,  she  began  to  pace  the  room  with  me, 
saying,  "The  Prince  of  Roumania  was  here  just  now 
to  ask  you  to  be  his  wife."  She  stopped  and  looked 
at  me,  half  expecting  the  decided  refusal,  with  which 
all  such  proposals  had  hitherto  been  met.  But  in- 
stead,— "Already?"  was  the  only  word  I  brought 
out.  I  said  to  myself, — he  hardly  knows  me,  he  can- 
not love  me,  he  happens  to  have  heard  how  well  and 
carefully  I  have  been  brought  up,  he  thinks  I  may 
prove  the  suitable  companion,  the  fittest  helpmate 
for  him  in  the  work  he  has  set  himself.  And  a 
thousand  similar  thoughts  flashed  like  lightning 
through  my  brain.  But  through  it  all  I  heard  my 
mother  telling  me  of  the  high  and  noble  mission 
awaiting  me,  should  I  accept  the  Prince's  hand,  of 
the  wide  field  in  which  my  energies  might  find  scope, 
and  the  honour  she  accounted  it  that  his  choice 
should  have  fallen  on  me.  As  she  went  on  talking, 
my  hesitation  seemed  to  fade  away,  and  it  was  not 

27 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

long  before  I  said  to  her, — "Let  him  come!  He  is 
the  right  one!"  In  a  very  short  time  the  Prince 
had  returned,  I  was  summoned  to  the  room,  and 
remember  going  towards  him  with  my  hand  out- 
stretched, which  he  raised  to  his  lips,  and  I  remem- 
ber too  the  words  he  spoke;  but  my  words  to  him 
I  do  not  recall,  though  my  mother  treasured  them 
in  her  heart,  and  had  them  engraved  below  my  por- 
trait she  sent  him.  She  had  already  sent  a  little 
word  in  all  haste  to  Mme.  Schumann,  telling  her  of 
my  betrothal,  and  that  she  must  not  count  on  us  for 
that  evening.  The  rest  of  it  passed  quickly  indeed, 
the  Prince  having  only  a  very  few  hours  to  spend 
with  us,  as  he  had  to  return  to  Paris  that  same  night. 
As  long  as  he  was  with  us,  telling  me  of  the  work  we 
should  accomplish  together,  of  the  difficulties  we 
must  encounter  and  overcome,  so  far,  all  was  well,  I 
had  caught  the  fire  of  his  enthusiasm,  and  felt  equal 
to  all  that  might  be  demanded  of  me.  But  no  sooner 
was  he  gone,  than  doubts  and  hesitations  once  more 
assailed  me.  Had  I  not  been  too  hasty,  too  precipi- 
tate, in  making  up  my  mind  on  a  question  of  such 
importance,  on  which  depended  all  the  happiness  of 
my  future  life?  I  was  no  longer  so  young,  very 
nearly  six-and-twenty,  and  that  would  perhaps  make 
it  all  the  harder  for  me,  to  give  up  my  freedom  and 
independence,  resigning  myself  as  it  were  to  an- 
other's control.  One  of  whom,  after  all,  I  knew  so 
little,  beyond  what  everyone  else  knew  and  could 
read  of  him  in  the  newspapers!  "Was  that  a  suffi- 
cient guarantee  of  happiness,  I  asked  myself,  that 
his  chivalrous  character  pleased  me,  that  I  knew  him 
to  be  the  soul  of  honour,  and  that  his  mother  had 

28 


CLARA  SCHUMANN 

ever  been  one  of  the  idols  of  my  girlhood'?  Unluck- 
ily too,  the  photograph  which  he  had  given  me  made 
him  look  very  stern,  and  that  quite  alarmed  me.  I 
thought,  if  he  can  ever  look  like  that,  I  shall  be 
frightened  to  death !  But  I  took  comfort  in  looking 
at  the  little  opal  cross  he  had  also  given  me,  finding 
in  the  soft  pure  flame  of  the  beautiful  milk-white 
stones,  a  sort  of  presage  of  everything  that  is  good 
and  noble,  and  my  fears  gradually  quieted  down. 
Not  altogether,  though.  They  came  back  often  dur- 
ing the  four  weeks  of  my  engagement,  and  only  left 
me  entirely  when  I  stood  with  my  affianced  husband 
before  the  altar. 

With  all  this,  alas!  I  never  saw  my  dear  Mme. 
Schumann  again.  I  had  little  thought  when  we  left 
her  that  eventful  day,  looking  forward  to  meeting 
again  the  same  evening  at  the  concert,  that  it  was 
the  very  last  time  we  should  meet  on  earth !  I  won- 
der if  she  ever  guessed  the  extent  of  my  affection 
and  veneration.  Two  days  before  the  wedding  a 
concert  was  given  in  honour  of  the  bridegroom  and 
myself,  and  for  this  my  brother  tried  to  arrange 
for  Mme.  Schumann  to  come,  but  she  was  unfort- 
unately prevented.  After  that  I  was  myself  so 
far  away,  plunged  heart  and  soul  in  the  new  duties 
that  were  now  to  be  my  lifework,  and  so  much  ab- 
sorbed by  these,  that  I  only  returned  twice  to  my  old 
home  in  the  course  of  the  next  ten  years.  Besides, 
in  the  meantime  I  had  become  a  mother — that  un- 
speakable happiness  was  mine,  and  then — and  then  it 
was  taken  from  me,  and  all  was  dark  around  me, 
nevermore  to  become  light  for  me  henceforth  on 
earth ! 


CHAPTER  II 

GRANDMAMMA 

I  cannot  rightly  remember  any  of  my  grand- 
parents, for  grandmamma,  as  we  all  called  her, 
whom  I  learnt  to  know  and  love  in  my  childhood, 
was  in  reality  only  my  mother's  stepmother,  my 
grandfather,  the  Duke  of  Nassau's  second  wife. 
She  was  a  daughter  of  the  terrible  Prince  Paul  of 
Wurtemberg,  so  notorious  for  the  violence  of  his 
temper,  and  her  mother  was  one  of  the  lovely  Prin- 
cesses of  Altenburg,  another  of  whom  had  been  my 
grandfather's  first  wife,  and  died  in  giving  birth 
to  my  mother,  her  eighth  child.  As  their  mother 
was  a  Princess  of  Mecklenburg,  sister  to  Queen 
Louisa  of  Prussia,  my  grandmother  and  the  old 
Emperor  William  were  first  cousins. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of  his  first 
wife,  before  my  grandfather  could  be  persuaded  to 
think  of  marrying  again,  so  deeply  did  he  regret 
this  good  and  amiable  woman,  and  so  happy  had  he 
been  with  her.  But  then,  hearing  so  much  said  in 
praise  of  this  young  niece  of  hers,  he  suddenly 
determined  to  see  and  judge  for  himself,  whether 
the  good  looks  and  other  good  qualities  with  which 
she  was  credited,  should  seem  sufficient  to  compen- 
sate for  the  slight  deafness  from  which  she  suffered. 
So  lie  set  off  for  Stuttgart  incognito,  even  taking 
the  precaution  to  disguise  himself  and  muffle  up  his 
face,  and  watching  his  opportunity,  he  followed  the 

30 


GRANDMAMMA 

young  princess  home  from  church,  and  taking  up 
his  stand  under  her  window,  listened  to  her  conver- 
sation with  her  companions,  in  order  to  find  out 
whether  her  infirmity  prevented  her  taking  part  in 
it  to  advantage.  Her  beauty  and  grace  so  enchanted 
him,  his  mind  was  made  up  at  once,  and  throwing 
off  the  muffler  that  concealed  his  features,  he  stepped 
forth  in  full  view  of  the  astonished  little  group. 
There  was  a  cry  of — ' '  Uncle  Wilhelm ! ' '  from  some 
of  the  young  people,  and  then  the  next  moment 
the  intruder  had  vanished,  as  quickly  as  he  came, 
only  to  re-appear  a  little  later  with  all  due  formality, 
in  the  character  of  suitor  for  the  hand  of  the  fair 
young  girl,  whom  he  carried  off  as  his  bride.  It 
was  no  such  easy  matter  for  her,  the  scarce  eighteen- 
year-old  wife,  to  enter  her  new  home  and  take  up 
her  position  there,  in  the  house  in  which,  but  a  short 
time  since,  she  the  young  cousin  had  played,  a  child 
herself,  with  the  other  children.  Three  of  these 
were  about  her  own  age;  the  two  elder  sons,  Adol- 
phus  and  Maurice,  now  almost  grown  up,  and  The- 
rese,  the  eldest  daughter,  although  only  fifteen,  very 
much  spoilt  and  very  independent,  and  too  much 
accustomed  to  play  the  part  of  mistress  of  the  house 
and  have  her  own  way  in  everything,  to  feel  disposed 
to  part  with  these  privileges  in  favour  of  anyone 
else.  It  was  therefore  the  very  greatest  comfort 
to  the  youthful  stepmother  to  find  herself  warmly 
welcomed  by  the  youngest  member  of  the  family, 
a  real  child  still,  my  mother,  then  a  little  girl  of  five 
with  her  long  fair  hair  falling  in  curls  below  her 
waist.     The  very  warmest  affection  sprang  up  at 

31 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

once  between  them,   and  lasted  throughout  their 
whole  lives. 

Grandmamma's  own  life  had  been  anything  but 
smooth  and  untroubled  from  her  earliest  years,  and 
it  is  no  wonder  that  when  she  one  day  later  on 
sat  down  to  write  her  recollections,  she  should  have 
done  so  under  the  title — Histoire  de  mes  Peines. 
Her  parents'  married  life  had  been  excessively  un- 
happy ;  her  father  having  even,  in  order  to  rid  him- 
self of  a  wife  he  detested,  gone  to  the  length  on  one 
occasion  of  actually  hiding  a  man  in  her  bedroom, 
and  then  bursting  in  upon  her  followed  by  the  whole 
Court,  in  the  hope  that  his  unsuspecting  victim's 
confusion  might  lend  her  an  appearance  of  guilt! 
But  his  diabolical  plot  fell  through,  for,  all  helpless 
and  defenceless  as  she  was,  the  poor  lady's  inno- 
cence was  perfectly  evident,  and  her  accuser's  char- 
acter only  too  well  known  for  anyone  to  put  faith 
in  anything  he  said.  It  was  shortly  after  this 
charming  exploit  that  Prince  Paul  determined  to 
send  his  daughters  to  school  in  France.  I  am  not 
sure  when  it  was  exactly,  whether  at  an  earlier  or 
later  date,  that  he  gave  them  into  the  care  of  such 
an  ill-natured  governess,  that  they  had  to  suffer 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives  from  the  effects  of  her 
petty  tyranny,  grandmamma's  deafness  having 
been  caused,  she  always  believed,  from  her  having 
been  forced  by  her  tormentor  to  stand  sometimes 
for  a  couple  of  hours  at  a  time,  barefoot  in  her  night- 
dress on  the  cold  stone  floor,  whilst  her  sister  Char- 
lotto's  digestion  was  ruined  by  her  never  being 
allowed  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  her  healthy  young 

32 


GRANDMAMMA 

appetite.  They  were  no  better  off  during  their 
schooldays  in  France.  In  the  establishment  in 
which  their  father  placed  them,  the  spirit  of  the 
Kevolution  still  prevailed  to  such  an  extent,  that 
everyone  of  aristocratic  birth  was  looked  upon  with 
suspicion,  and  as  for  the  title  of  princess,  to  bear 
that  was  little  less  than  a  crime!  So  that  the  poor 
little  Wurtemberg  princesses  had  a  hard  time  of  it, 
mistrusted  and  shunned  by  their  schoolfellows,  who 
refused  even  to  let  them  join  in  their  games,  and 
played  all  sorts  of  mischievous  tricks  on  them,  whilst 
the  governesses  for  their  part  vented  their  dislike  in 
imposing  on  them  the  most  unsuitable  tasks — even  of 
a  menial  description.  Not  only  from  grandmamma 
herself,  but  also  from  her  sister,  afterwards  the 
Grand  Duchess  Helene  of  Kussia,  with  whom  much 
of  my  own  girlhood  was  spent,  did  I  hear  all  about 
this.  It  was  she  who  told  me  how  often  in  her  sad- 
ness and  loneliness  she  would  seat  herself  on  the 
stairs,  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  hands  of  the 
big  clock  opposite,  as  if  that  were  her  only  friend 
and  companion,  listening  through  the  long  dreary 
hours  to  its  melancholy  ticking,  and  counting  the 
slow  monotonous  swinging  of  the  pendulum  back- 
wards and  forwards. 

When  the  sisters  returned  to  the  Wurtemberg 
Court,  they  were  as  lonely  as  ever,  for  they  had  be- 
come strangers  to  everyone,  including  the  King  and 
Queen,  during  their  exile.  But  soon,  the  Emperor 
Nicholas  having  seen  the  one,  asked  for  her  hand 
in  marriage  for  his  brother  Michael;  and  thus  it 
was  that  the  Princess  Charlotte  was  sent  to  Russia 
3  33 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

in  charge  of  a  governess — for  she  was  only  fourteen 
years  old — to  finish  her  education  and  be  received 
under  the  name  of  Helene  into  the  Orthodox  Church 
as  a  preliminary  to  the  wedding. 

And  so  grandmamma  was  left  alone  and  but  for 
the  occasional  society  of  her  two  brothers,  more  for- 
saken and  disconsolate  than  ever.  It  was  when  she 
was  eighteen,  as  I  have  said,  that  a  change 
came  into  her  life  also,  with  her  marriage.  But  the 
husband  with  whom  she  entered  her  new  home  was 
no  young  man,  he  was  the  widower  of  her  aunt,  and 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  him  in  the  light 
of  an  uncle, — one  of  the  older  generation,  rather 
to  be  respected  and  looked  up  to  than  to  be  treated 
as  an  equal.  So  that  my  grandfather  need  have 
been  at  no  pains  to  inspire  her  with  awe  for  his 
person  and  frighten  her  into  submissiveness.  How- 
ever, that  there  might  be  no  mistake  at  all  as  to  the 
position  he  intended  to  assume,  the  wedding-cere- 
mony was  no  sooner  over,  and  the  newly-married 
couple  alone  in  their  travelling  carriage,  than  he 
proceeded  to  light  his  pipe,  and  closing  the  win- 
dows, smoked  hard  in  her  face  for  a  few  hours,  just 
to  see  if  she  would  venture  to  remonstrate  or  com- 
plain! Needless  to  say,  she  was  too  well  broken  in 
by  a  long  course  of  severity,  to  dare  to  utter  a  word 
of  protest,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  had  her  husband 
but  known  how  joyless  her  youth  had  hitherto  been, 
he  must  have  tried  rather  to  cheer  her  and  raise  her 
spirits,  than  to  crush  her  still  more  by  the  assump- 
tion of  so  brutal  an  attitude.  Unfortunately  in 
Germany  the  custom  still  prevails,  of  trying  to  keep 

34 


GRANDMAMMA 

women  in  subjection.  A  foolish  notion  survives 
among  us,  that  women  ought  to  keep  silence,  and 
thus,  while  our  wiser  French  neighbours  demand  of 
their  women-folk  to  take  the  lead  in  all  conversa- 
tion, which  they  enliven  and  stimulate  with  their 
wit  and  brilliancy,  the  German  on  the  other  hand 
expects  members  of  the  other  sex  to  be  content 
to  listen  in  silent  admiration,  needle  in  hand,  while 
he  holds  forth  ponderously  on  whatever  subject  he 
pleases.  The  natural  reaction  from  this  absurd 
tyranny  is  a  sort  of  revolt  of  womankind,  attended 
by  exaggeration  in  the  opposite  direction — a  tend- 
ency that  certainly  deprives  its  adherents  of  much 
of  their  former  grace  and  charm,  whilst  it  is  to  be 
questioned  whether  there  be  any  compensating  gain 
in  strength.  In  all  this  we  have  undoubtedly  fallen 
behind  our  ancestors,  for  in  the  old  Germanic  tribes 
not  only  was  the  entire  rule  and  management  of  the 
household  given  up  to  women,  but  our  rude  fore- 
fathers also  reverenced  in  them  their  best  friends 
and  counsellors,  priestesses  of  the  hearth  and  altar, 
superior  beings  in  fact.  It  was  only  when  Roman 
institutions  had  the  supremacy,  that  the  contrary 
opinion  came  into  force,  and  was  carried  to  the 
utmost  extremes,  it  being  found  convenient  to 
ascribe  inferior  brain-power  to  those  who  were  to 
be  reduced  to  subjection.  I  wonder  if  it  never 
struck  any  of  the  wiseacres  who  propounded  this 
ludicrous  theory,  that  as  the  propagation  of  the 
human  race  can  only  be  carried  on  by  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  female  portion,  it  must,  if  the  latter  be 
in  reality  so  wofully  inferior,  necessarily  in  course 

35 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

of  time  deteriorate  altogether !  Surely,  if  they  were 
not  blinded  by  their  own  vanity,  each  one  of  these 
superior  beings  must  be  aware  that  his  first  youth- 
ful health  and  physical  vigour,  together  probably 
with  much  of  the  mental  and  moral  force  on  which 
he  prides  himself,  were  in  the  first  instance  derived 
from  one  of  the  sex  he  so  looks  down  upon,  and  im- 
bibed with  his  mother's  milk!  What  is  strangest  of 
all  is  that  women  should  so  long  have  put  up  with 
being  treated  in  this  manner.  Was  it  that  they 
did  not  think  it  worth  their  while  to  protest,  that 
for  all  these  centuries  they  have  smilingly  seen 
through  the  unwarrantable  pretensions  of  their  hus- 
bands, brothers  and  sons,  calm  and  confident  in  their 
own  quiet  strength,  which  must,  if  they  but  chose  to 
put  it  forth,  prevail  against  irrational  blustering? 
To  me,  in  any  case,  it  would  appear  rather  a  con- 
fession of  weakness  on  the  part  of  some  of  my 
sisters,  when  I  hear  them  clamouring  for  their  so- 
called  rights.  Which  of  the  old  Roman  legislators 
was  it,  who  in  helping  to  frame  the  laws  which  press 
so  hardly  on  our  sex,  gave  it  as  his  reason,  that 
unless  women  were  firmly  kept  down,  they  would 
soon  get  the  upper-hand  altogether,  being,  as  he  had 
the  courage  and  honesty  to  confess — "so  much 
stronger  and  cleverer  than  men!" 

My  mother  has  very  often  told  me  of  her  joy  at 
the  arrival  of  the  pretty  new  mamma,  who  looked 
so  sweet,  and  took  her  in  her  arms  so  kindly,  as  if 
she  felt  it  a  real  comfort  to  find  this  little  one  pre- 
pared to  love  her,  and  to  whom  she  might  try  to  be  a 
r«;tl  mother.     Not  quite  as  she  would  have  wished 

36 


GRANDMAMMA 

though,  as  she  soon  found  out,  for  that  would  not 
have  fallen  in  with  my  grandfather's  views,  lie 
wanted  his  wife  for  himself,  and  expected  her  to  be 
constantly  in  her  own  rooms  awaiting  his  good  will 
and  pleasure,  and  not  that  he  should  perhaps  be  told 
if  he  went  to  look  for  her  there,  that  she  had  gone 
upstairs  to  the  schoolroom  or  nursery.  It  was  for 
this  reason  that  my  mother  in  her  turn  had  to  con- 
tinue leading  a  lonely  life  in  her  childhood,  only 
seeing  her  parents  at  stated  hours,  and  ever  in  the 
greatest  dread  of  her  father,  who,  if  he  were  an- 
noyed at  anything,  generally,  I  regret  to  say,  laid 
about  him  with  his  riding-whip  pretty  freely.  Such 
energetic  modes  of  enforcing  obedience  or  express- 
ing disapproval  were  already  somewhat  going  out 
of  fashion  in  my  childhood,  and  I  am  glad  to  think 
how  many  children  there  now  are  who  have  never 
received  a  blow,  and  are  wholly  free  from  the  ter- 
rorising influences  under  which  earlier  generations 
grew  up. 

My  mother's  first  impression  of  her  stepmother 
was,  as  I  have  said,  one  of  pure  enthusiasm.  She 
was  old  enough  to  feel  the  charm  of  a  pretty  face, 
and  to  observe  the  pride  her  father  took  in  his 
young  wife's  beauty,  and  the  intense  satisfaction 
he  felt  in  witnessing  the  admiration  she  excited. 
He  was  rather  fond  of  teasing  his  little  daughter 
with  the  prospect  of  very  soon  finding  a  husband 
for  her,  to  which  the  little  girl  would  reply  quite 
gravely — "No,  I  do  not  mean  ever  to  get  married!" 
And  her  father  would  cast  an  enquiring  glance  at  his 
wife,  as  if  wondering  whether  she  had  the  air  of  a 

37 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

victim  of  the  marriage  yoke,  to  be  however  promptly 
reassured  by  her  smile  of  unaffected  amusement  at 
the  child's  ingenuousness.  Grandmamma's  first 
baby  did  not  live,  but  she  had  in  course  of  time  four 
other  children,  who  were  to  the  little  elder  sister  a 
source  of  unfailing  delight.  She  would  amuse  them 
for  hours,  telling  them  the  most  wonderful  stories, 
which  she  made  up  herself,  and  the  little  ones  simply 
adored  her.  For  her  own  elder  brothers  my  mother 
had,  as  I  shall  have  occasion  to  relate,  an  almost 
passionate  attachment.  I  must  speak  of  them  in 
their  own  place,  but  in  this  sort  of  family  history, 
the  lives  are  all  so  mixed  up  together,  and  have  so 
many  points  of  contact,  one  must  from  time  to  time 
let  a  side-light  fall  on  some,  whose  turn  to  be  treated 
at  length  has  not  yet  come. 

The  occasional  visits  which  the  terrible  Prince 
Paul  paid  his  daughter  were  rather  like  the  explo- 
sion of  a  bomb  in  the  household.  As  an  instance  of 
the  alarm  which  his  presence  inspired,  my  mother 
used  to  relate  with  amusement  the  story  of  her  step- 
mother's consternation  at  finding  her  one  day  alone 
with  him  for  a  few  minutes,  imitating  the  tone  of 
commiseration  with  which  she  said  to  her: — "What, 
all  alone,  poor  child!  Go  upstairs  and  rest!"  It 
was  the  only  time  that  she  ever  heard  grandmamma 
say  a  word  that  could  imply  the  slightest  dislike  to 
her  father.  Her  manner  towards  him  was  always 
perfect,  and  she  never  criticised  his  conduct. 

My  mother  was  just  fourteen,  grandmamma  there- 
fore only  twenty-seven,  when  my  grandfather  sud- 
denly died.     Grandmamma  was  so  inconsolable,  that 

38 


GRANDMAMMA 

for  the  first  week  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  own 
room,  refusing  to  see  anyone,  and  shedding  floods 
of  tears.  And  yet  her  married  life  cannot  have 
been  a  very  cheerful  one.  What  dreary  evenings 
those  must  have  been,  on  which  her  husband  came 
home  tired  from  his  shooting,  and  fell  asleep  on  the 
sofa  directly  after  dinner,  his  wife  and  daughters 
not  daring  to  speak  a  word,  for  fear  of  disturbing 
his  slumbers!  Nor  was  it  perhaps  much  better,  to 
have  at  other  times  to  stand  the  whole  evening  be- 
side the  billiard-table,  looking  on  at  the  interminable 
games  he  played  with  his  chamberlains.  As  for  the 
visits  from  other  Courts,  these  were  mostly  terribly 
stiff  and  formal  affairs,  and  if,  as  was  sometimes 
the  case,  the  Rhine-steamers  bringing  the  expected 
guests  were  delayed,  then  it  meant  several  hours  of 
tedious  waiting.  Standing  about  waiting  was  part 
of  the  daily  business  of  Court  life,  and  children 
were  not  spared,  they  had  to  do  just  like  the  rest. 
As  for  asking  them  if  they  were  tired  or  bored, 
that  occurred  to  nobody;  it  was  the  proper  thing 
and  had  to  be  done,  and  that  was  enough. 

It  was  only  much  later  that  I  could  at  all  appre- 
ciate what  infinite  tact  must  have  been  requisite  on 
grandmamma's  part,  to  enable  her,  the  young  widow 
with  her  little  children,  to  take  up  exactly  the  right 
position  towards  her  stepson,  now  Duke  of  Nassau, 
so  little  younger  than  herself.  But  her  innate  sense 
of  the  fitness  of  things  pointed  out  to  her  exactly  the 
right  line  of  conduct,  and  it  was  with  the  most  per- 
fect womanly  dignity  and  grace  that  she  settled 
down  at  once  into  the  part  of  the  middle-aged,  one 

39 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

might  say  the  elderly  woman,  which  she  had  decided 
should  henceforth  be  hers.  She  had  a  stately  way 
of  receiving  visitors,  nearly  always  standing,  and 
with  the  doors  on  all  sides  thrown  wide  open.  Even 
her  doctor  was  accustomed  to  stand  and  talk  to  her, 
or  else  would  walk  up  and  down  with  her,  hat  in 
hand,  through  the  rooms  with  their  big  folding-doors 
opening  one  into  the  other.  All  this  perpetual  liv- 
ing on  view  as  it  were,  this  lack  of  privacy,  seemed 
to  us  then  perfectly  natural — one  is  always  inclined 
to  take  the  difficulties  in  the  lives  of  others  as  a 
matter  of  course,  especially  if  they  themselves 
accept  them  unmurmuringly.  So  that  it  never  even 
occurred  to  me  how  frightfully  dull  and  monotonous 
was  the  life  grandmamma  led — just  the  same  little 
round  of  duties  and  occupations  day  by  day,  a  drive 
to  the  same  spot  at  the  same  hour,  varied  only  by  a 
little  walk  while  the  carriage  waited  for  her,  and 
just  the  same  set  of  people  received  in  audience  over 
and  over  again.  There  could  of  course  never  be 
any  pleasure  to  her  in  receiving  visitors,  on  account 
of  her  deafness,  but  she  never  let  this  interfere  with 
the  enjoyment  of  others,  and  nothing  pleased  her 
so  much  as  to  sit,  smiling  and  serene,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  gay  and  laughing  young  people,  whose 
words  she  could  not  hear,  but  whose  bright  laughing 
faces  enabled  her  to  share  in  their  mirth.  It  is  in 
looking  back  on  them  now,  that  such  details  throw 
fresh  light  for  me  on  the  inner  meaning  of  that  beau- 
tiful and  serene,  yet  in  reality  solitary  existence, 
and  I  reflect  on  the  amount  of  silent  endurance,  the 
long  practice  in  self-restraint  and  self-sacrifice,  all 

40 


GRANDMAMMA 

the  disappointments  and  disenchantment s,  by  which 
in  the  end  that  appearance  of  placid  content,  of 
sweet  and  smiling  resignation,  had  been  acquired. 

My  own  happiest  hours  were  those  spent  with 
grandmamma.  Oh !  how  we  loved  everything  about 
her! — her  house, — that  pretty  house,  standing  on  a 
hill  covered  with  rose-trees,  so  that  it  was  a  perfect 
bower  of  roses  during  the  summer  months,  and  in- 
side fragrant  the  whole  year  round  with  the  perfume 
of  the  flowers  that  filled  it  everywhere !  She  had  at 
first  taken  another  house  in  "Wiesbaden,  for  she 
insisted  on  moving  from  Biebrich  directly  after  her 
husband's  death,  in  order  to  give  up  the  Castle  to 
his  eldest  son,  who  then  had  this  house  built  on 
purpose  for  her,  and  in  it  she  lived  the  whole  of  her 
widowed  life.  It  was  called  after  her  the  "Paul- 
inenpalais,"  and  bore  that  name  still  for  many  years 
after  her  death.  But  now  it  has  been  sold,  has 
passed  into  other  hands,  and  retains  nothing  of  the 
charm  that  belonged  to  it  in  grandmamma's  time. 
How  well  I  remember  every  nook  and  corner  of  it, 
each  one  endeared  to  me  by  some  special  association, 
and  with  grandmamma's  presence  pervading  it  all, 
— the  drawing-room  we  thought  so  lovely,  with  its 
oriental  decorations,  in  imitation  of  the  Alhambra, 
and  her  dear  little  boudoir,  with  its  soft  blue  hang- 
ings, and  the  delicately  scented  note-paper  on  her 
writing-table,  of  the  special  pale  green  tint  she 
always  used,  for  the  sake  of  her  somewhat  weak 
eyes. 

And  what  lovely  fine  crochet-work  was  done  by 
those  beautiful  hands  of  hers,  gloved  or  ungloved. 

41 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

One  wore  gloves  much  more  in  those  days,  it  was 
considered  a  duty  to  take  care  of  one's  hands,  and 
would  have  been  condemned  as  a  mark  of  excessive 
ill-breeding,  to  hold  out  a  hand  that  was  not  beauti- 
fully cared  for,  for  others  to  kiss.  Very  rarely 
though  did  one  give  one's  hand  at  all.  It  is  very 
different  now-a-days,  when  young  princes  content 
themselves  with  a  silent  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
young  princesses  too  find  nothing  to  say,  and  put  it 
on  the  ground  of  their  shyness.  My  mother  knew 
what  it  meant  to  suffer  from  shyness,  she  hardly 
ever  entered  the  drawing-room  in  her  youth  without 
having  shed  tears  beforehand,  so  terrible  an  ordeal 
was  it  to  her,  but  she  knew  what  would  have  awaited 
her  had  she  not  at  once  gone  round  the  circle  of 
guests  speaking  to  each  in  turn.  Nor  did  grand- 
mamma's deafness  ever  prevent  her  from  entering 
into  conversation  with  each  person  presented  to  her, 
finding  the  right  thing  to  say  to  each  one,  whilst  only 
her  heightened  colour  betrayed  to  those  who  knew 
her  well,  the  torture  it  was  to  her  to  go  on  talking 
thus,  without  hearing  more  than  a  chance  word  here 
and  there  of  the  other  *s  replies.  It  was  in  her  draw- 
ing-room that  I  took  unconsciously  my  first  lessons 
in  deportment,  her  way  of  holding  a  reception  seem- 
ing to  me  so  gracious  and  so  natural,  I  felt  that  no 
better  model  could  be  found.  To  me  she  was  in- 
variably of  the  most  exquisite  kindness,  but  I  should- 
never  have  taken  it  into  my  head  to  be  otherwise 
than  extremely  respectful  towards  her.  I  was  never 
happier  than  when  sitting  at  her  feet,  playing  with 
the  tips  of  her  delicate  tapering  fingers,  which  she 

42 


GRANDMAxMMA 

left  in  my  clasp,  whilst  she  went  on  conversing  with 
the  others.  Sometimes  she  took  me  out  for  a  drive, 
and  I  felt  very  proud  at  being  alone  with  her  in 
the  carriage.  "Sit  very  upright,"  she  used  to  say, 
' '  and  then  people  will  think  you  are  grown-up ! ' ' 

But  the  greatest  delight  of  all  was  to  be  allowed 
to  be  present  at  grandmamma's  toilet,  to  watch  her 
hair  being  dressed,  and  see  her  arrange  her  curls, 
as  she  always  did  herself,  with  her  own  hands.  Her 
hair  was  coiled  round  at  the  back,  and  a  piece  of 
black  lace  hung  over  it,  and  then  in  the  front  the 
mass  of  soft  little  curls  shaded  her  forehead  most 
becomingly,  after  the  fashion  of  her  youth,  to  which 
she  always  clung.  Nor  did  she  ever  change  the  style 
of  her  dress,  during  all  the  years  of  her  widowhood. 
Her  dressing-room  seemed  to  me  quite  a  little  sanc- 
tuary, so  dainty  and  sweet,  with  the  delicious  smell 
of  the  rose-water  she  used  to  bathe  her  eyes,  and  all 
the  beautiful  glass-stoppered  bottles  set  out  on  the 
toilet-table,  and  yet  there  were  no  toilet  arts  or 
mysteries  at  all,  nothing  that  need  be  concealed  from 
a  child's  gaze. 

Grandmamma  often  stayed  with  us  for  months 
together,  for  my  mother  and  she  were  intensely  fond 
of  one  another,  and  there  was  even  a  great  likeness 
between  them,  which  was  not  surprising,  as  they 
were  first  cousins.  She  wrote  a  great  deal,  had  a 
special  facility  with  her  pen,  and  many  a  document 
for  the  use  of  her  stepson  was  drawn  up  by  her. 
French  she  wrote  with  perhaps  even  greater  ease, 
always  employing  that  language  for  any  notes  she 
made  for  her  own  reference,  for  it  was  of  course  the 

43 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

language  of  her  youth,  being  spoken  exclusively  at 
the  German  Courts  in  the  old  days.  My  mother 
also  spoke  it  before  she  could  speak  German,  hardly 
knowing  a  word  of  the  latter  language  at  the  time 
of  her  father's  second  marriage. 

The  year  1848,  so  full  of  unrest  throughout  Eu- 
rope, did  not  pass  unfelt  in  Nassau.  My  uncle,  the 
Duke,  was  absent  when  the  revolution  broke  out,  and 
an  angry  mob  collected  round  grandmamma's  palace 
in  Wiesbaden,  and  even  began  piling  faggots  at 
every  corner,  with  the  evident  intention  of  setting  it 
on  fire.  Then  when  popular  excitement  was  at  the 
highest  pitch,  two  or  three  delegates  of  the  revolu- 
tionary party  came  up  to  demand  of  any  members 
of  the  ducal  family  the  signing  of  the  new  consti- 
tution. There  was  no  time  for  reflection;  grand- 
mamma had  to  sign  the  paper  herself,  and  let  her 
son  Nicholas,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  do  the  same,  and 
then  she  took  up  her  stand  on  the  balcony,  with  what 
outward  calm  she  might,  but  in  her  heart  longing  for 
her  stepson  to  return  and  restore  order.  At  last, 
to  her  relief,  she  perceived  the  plumes  of  his  helmet 
on  the  other  side  of  the  square,  and  soon  could  recog- 
nise him,  in  full  uniform,  making  his  way  quietly 
on  foot  through  the  thickest  of  the  crowd.  He  had 
heard  the  news  of  the  revolution  at  Frankfort,  and 
jumping  on  the  first  railway-engine  that  left,  came 
back  with  all  speed.  In  her  joy  grandmamma 
waved  her  handkerchief  as  a  signal,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment, from  all  the  houses  round,  whose  inmates  had 
been  watching  the  course  of  events  behind  closed 
windows,  countless  handkerchiefs  were  waving  also, 

44 


GRANDMAMMA 

notwithstanding  the  danger  of  thus  attracting  to 
oneself  a  shot  from  the  insurgents.  There  was  an 
anxious  pause  whilst  the  Duke  came  forward  to  the 
edge  of  the  balcony,  and  leaning  over,  called  down 
into  the  crowd  below,  in  a  clear  and  decided  if  not 
very  well-pleased  tone  of  voice, — "The  engagement 
my  mother  and  brother  have  entered  into  for  me,  I 
will  fulfil!"  The  last  syllable  echoing  across  the 
square  with  cutting  emphasis,  as  I  have  often  been 
told  by  those  who  were  present  at  the  scene. 

Nassau  was  a  gem  among  the  states  of  Germany. 
There  was  an  alliterative  saying  about  the  sources  of 
the  country's  wealth:  from  water,  in  the  first  place, 
for  besides  the  Rhine  flowing  through  it,  there  were  all 
the  magnificent  mineral  and  medicinal  springs ;  then 
its  wine,  the  very  best  in  Germany,  and  in  the  whole 
world!  Next,  the  woods,  of  such  splendid  and  lux- 
uriant growth,  and  the  home  of  innumerable  wild 
creatures, — feathered  and  four-footed  game  of  all 
sorts!  As  for  wheat,  there  were  corn-fields  in 
abundance,  enclosed  by  fruit  trees,  whose  branches 
were  drooping  with  their  load ;  and  last,  though  not 
least,  the  ways,  those  roads  for  which  the  land  was 
famous, — the  so-called  vicinal  ways, — were  as  good 
as  the  finest  highways  elsewhere.  With  all  this, 
rates  and  taxes  were  things  unknown,  in  that  for- 
tunate country,  in  those  halcyon  days.  The  state 
was  prosperous,  the  reigning  family  wealthy,  and 
any  deficit  in  the  revenue  was  supplied  by  the  gam- 
ing-tables at  Wiesbaden.  As  these  were  only  open 
to  foreigners,  neither  the  townspeople  nor  the  inno- 
cent countryfolk  around  were  ever  exposed  to  the 

45 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

temptations  and  dangers  so  eloquently  set  forth  in 
certain  pamphlets.  There,  the  misery  of  the  peas- 
antry is  depicted  in  moving  terms, — honest  families 
reduced  to  the  direst  poverty  after  losing  their  little 
all  in  the  gambling-saloons!  But  it  so  happened 
that  no  peasant  was  ever  admitted  inside  the  doors, 
or  had  he  succeeded  in  gaining  entrance,  he  would 
very  speedily  have  been  turned  out,  before  he  had 
time  even  to  watch  the  play,  much  less  stake  his 
own  money!  An  officer  in  the  army  seen  there 
would  have  been  immediately  cashiered,  nor  was 
access  to  the  tables  granted  to  any  magistrate  or 
functionary,  or  to  anyone  belonging  to  the  territory. 
It  is  not  that  I  wish  to  undertake  the  defence  of 
gambling,  but,  apart  from  the  question  of  its  in- 
trinsic immorality,  so  much  that  is  erroneous  has 
been  written  on  the  subject  and  has  come  to  my  own 
notice,  that  I  cannot  refrain  from  stating  here  the 
facts  of  the  case,  as  they  are  known  to  me.  For 
Nassau  it  may  emphatically  be  said,  that  the  institu- 
tion only  benefited  the  country,  very  materially  add- 
ing to  its  prosperity,  without  doing  it  any  harm  at 
all. 

On  rainy  days,  our  favourite  walk  was  under  the 
arcades,  where  we  wandered  up  and  down,  looking 
in  at  the  shop  windows,  that  seemed  to  me  an  Eldo- 
rado, with  all  the  treasures  they  displayed.  And 
never  shall  I  forget  my  sensations,  the  day  that  for 
the  first  time  I  possessed  a  whole  thaler  of  my  own, 
to  spend  as  I  liked!  T  drove  with  grandmamma  to 
1lio  Arcade,  and  we  got  out  there,  that  I  might  make 
my  purchase.     Now  T  had  long  since  set  my  heart 

4G 


GRANDMAMMA 

on  the  loveliest  little  basket,  lined  with  pink  silk, 
which  I  had  often  gazed  at  with  longing  eyes,  think- 
ing it  quite  an  unattainable  object.  "That  costs  a 
gulden,"  said  the  shopkeeper,  in  answer  to  my  some- 
what embarrassed  question,  for  it  seemed  to  me 
rather  an  indelicate  thing  to  ask  the  price  of  any- 
thing, a  feeling  I  have  not  altogether  got  over  to 
this  day.  A  gulden!  my  spirits  sank.  "Ah!  I  have 
only  a  thaler!"  "But  that  is  a  great  deal  too 
much,"  replied  the  friendly  shopman,  with  whom  I 
was  delighted,  as  in  addition  to  my  purchase,  he 
handed  me  back  numberless  little  coins,  with  which 
I  at  once  bought  several  other  charming  knicknacks. 
For  I  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of  taking  a  single 
pfennig  home  with  me.  To  have  money  in  one's 
pocket  seemed  to  me  already  then  a  real  misfort- 
une, and  I  have  never  changed  in  that  respect. 
How  should  one  change?  Does  one  not  remain  the 
same  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave?  And  what  a 
number  of  pretty  little  things  I  had  for  my  money ! 
Some  of  them  I  have  to  this  day,  for  I  could  not  bear 
to  part  with  them,  and  brought  them  with  me  to 
Eoumania. 

The  year  1856  saw  us  for  the  last  time  all  assem- 
bled round  grandmamma,  in  the  month  of  February, 
to  celebrate  her  forty-fifth  birthday.  I  was  just 
twelve  years  old,  but  already  so  familiar  with  the 
outward  signs  of  ill-health  and  sickness,  that  the 
change  in  her  appearance  at  once  astonished  and 
even  disquieted  me.  It  was  the  strange  bright  patch 
of  red  on  each  cheek  that  struck  me  especially.  Her 
complexion  had  always  remained  brilliant,  and  her 

47 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

cheeks  rosy,  but  now  they  were  much  redder,  and 
seemed  to  be  encircled  by  a  hard  line  that  made  the 
skin  around  look  whiter  than  ever.  I  think  she  had 
also  a  little  dry  hacking  cough.  It  soon  became  evi- 
dent that  her  lungs  were  attacked,  her  fits  of  cough- 
ing were  accompanied  by  hemorrhage,  and  the  doc- 
tors pronounced  her  to  be  in  a  decline.  We  saw  but 
little  of  my  mother  that  spring  and  summer,  as  she 
was  constantly  in  Wiesbaden,  the  invalid  always 
asking  for  her,  and  liking  no  other  nursing  so  well 
as  hers.  Already  early  in  July  it  was  announced 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  hope,  and  my  mother, 
whose  perpetual  dread  it  was  that  my  naturally  im- 
pulsive nature  should  gain  more  and  more  the  upper 
hand,  counting  on  the  solemn  impressions  of  such 
a  scene  to  sober  me  for  life,  resolved  to  take  me  with 
her  to  the  death-bed. 

Such  an  experience  was  indeed  well  calculated  to 
damp  a  child's  high  spirits,  and  it  remains  with  me 
as  the  most  vivid  recollection  of  my  youth.  For 
accustomed  as  I  was  to  sickness  and  suffering,  death 
I  was  yet  unacquainted  with.  And  now,  all  at  once, 
I  was  to  see  someone  die!  But  what  a  radiant, 
blissful  death  that  was!  The  evening  before  she 
passed  away,  grandmamma  seemed  positively  trans- 
figured. A  rapturous  expression  was  on  her  face, 
as  she  lay  there  stretching  out  her  arms  towards 
something  that  was  seen  by  her  alone,  and  repeating 
with  marked  emphasis  the  words  "at  four  o'clock!" 
For  many  hours  we  all  sat  or  knelt  round  her  bed, 
until  at  last  my  mother  sent  me  away  to  get  a  little 
sleep,  promising  to  have  me  awakened  when  the  end 

48 


GRANDMAMMA 

approached.  I  stopped  to  press  my  lips  once  more 
to  the  dear  wasted  hand,  and  at  that  grandmamma 
opened  her  eyes,  looked  at  me  and  smiled,  and  her 
lips  shaped  themselves  as  if  to  give  me  a  kiss.  My 
eyes  were  running  over  with  tears,  as  I  stooped  over 
her  for  that  last  kiss.  Even  then,  almost  in  her 
death-agony,  her  natural  sweetness  and  affability 
never  deserted  her  for  a  moment,  and  as  with  her 
failing  eyes  she  caught  sight  of  a  doctor  who  had 
been  summoned  in  haste,  with  one  of  her  own  pecu- 
liarly graceful  gestures  she  pointed  to  a  chair  by 
her  bedside,  begging  him  to  be  seated. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  next  room,  still,  in  my  little 
dressing-gown  I  had  thrown  myself  on  a  camp- 
bedstead  that  had  been  placed  there  for  anyone  able 
to  snatch  a  few  minutes'  rest,  and  had  fallen  into 
an  uneasy  sleep,  until  a  little  before  four  o'clock 
my  mother  woke  me,  everyone  thinking  that  the 
end  must  come  then. 

In  these  few  hours  I  found  that  a  great  change 
had  taken  place, — still  the  same  hot  flush  on  the 
cheeks,  but  the  eyes  sunken,  and  without  the  slight- 
est look  of  consciousness,  and  her  breath  coming  in 
short  quick  gasps.  I  trembled  all  over.  Through 
the  door  open  into  the  boudoir  beyond,  I  could  see 
the  old  clergyman,  Pastor  Dilthey,  who  had  officiated 
both  at  my  mother's  confirmation  and  at  her  mar- 
riage, sitting  there  in  his  full  canonicals,  grave  and 
imposing,  waiting  to  perform  the  last  solemn  rites. 
The  room  was  left  in  darkness,  only  the  first  rays 
of  morning  stealing  in  through  the  closed  shutters 
flickered  strangely  here  and  there,  and  fell  over  the 
4  49 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

old  pastor's  silvery  hair,  making  his  pale  serious 
face  look  still  more  grave  and  pale.  I  watched  him 
from  the  doorway,  but  felt  in  too  great  awe  to  go  up 
and  speak  to  him,  so  I  stole  up  quietly  to  grand- 
mamma's writing-table,  and  looked  once  more  at  all 
the  little  articles  standing  on  it,  with  which  I  had 
sometimes  been  allowed  to  play  and  all  of  which 
had  the  scent  of  the  filagree  vinaigrettes  she  kept 
among  them.  The  hands  of  the  little  clock  there 
already  pointed  to  four, — when  she  suddenly  began 
to  breathe  a  little  more  freely,  and  the  danger 
seemed  no  longer  so  imminent.  We  knelt  round  her 
bed,  without  a  sound,  except  when  one  or  other  of 
her  daughters,  unable  to  control  her  sobs,  was  im- 
mediately called  to  order  by  my  mother  lest  the 
calm  of  the  death-bed  should  be  disturbed. 

And  so  the  hours  passed.  I  grew  more  and  more 
tired.  Then,  between  one  and  two  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  a  terrific  storm  broke  out.  The  open 
windows  banged  to  and  fro,  the  rain  splashed  and 
dashed  against  the  window-panes,  the  thunder 
rolled,  and  grandmamma's  breath  came  in  fitful 
gasps.  She  could  no  longer  swallow  even  the  few 
drops  of  water  that  were  held  to  her  lips.  So  the 
storm  raged  on,  and  her  breathing  grew  more  pain- 
ful and  irregular,  and  I  knelt  on  like  the  rest  at  her 
bedside,  when  suddenly  I  knew  no  more,  all  grew 
dark  before  my  eyes,  and  I  had  fallen  forward,  my 
dark  curls  streaming  across  my  mother's  feet,  fast 
asleep.  Or  was  it  perhaps  in  reality  faintness  that 
had  overcome  me,  and  that  then  passed  into  the 
sound  sleep  of  childhood,  worn  out  as  I  was  with  the 

50 


GRANDMAMMA 

unwonted  hours  of  watching  and  fasting  I  had  gone 
through?  It  is  very  possible,  for  I  had  eaten  noth- 
ing for  the  last  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  was 
exhausted  with  kneeling  and  with  all  the  tears  I 
had  shed.  When  I  came  to  myself  again,  the  storm 
had  spent  its  fury,  the  flashes  of  lightning  were  less 
frequent,  the  thunder  only  went  on  rumbling  in  the 
distance,  the  rain  had  stopped,  and  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine streamed  into  the  room  and  right  across  the 
face  of  the  dying  woman,  whose  breathing  was  still 
slower  and  feebler.  At  last,  as  the  big  belfry  clocks 
in  the  town  began  to  strike  the  hour,  one  after  the 
other,  there  were  still  longer  pauses  between  the 
gasps  for  breath.  I  saw  then  for  the  first  time  what 
it  means  to  smile  from  sheer  despair.  Good  old 
Dr.  Fritze,  who  had  attended  grandmamma  all  her 
life,  and  who  literally  idolised  her,  had  seated  him- 
self on  the  bed  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  to  try  to 
ease  her  breathing  a  little.  When  the  clocks  began 
striking,  he  smiled,  and  said  aloud, — "one  more 
breath!"  and  then, — "one  more!"  And  again: — 
"and  just  one  more!"  And  after  that  there  was  a 
deathly  silence,  whilst  the  old  Black  Forest  clock 
above  her  head  struck  four.  Her  daughters  hid 
their  faces  in  the  pillows  to  stifle  their  sobs,  and  the 
deep  rich  voice  of  the  old  pastor  rang  out  in  words 
of  solemn  prayer.  Then  the  head  of  the  family,  the 
Duke  of  Nassau,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stretching 
out  his  hand  across  the  sleeping  form,  called  on  his 
brother  and  sisters  to  unite  with  him  in  the  vow, 
that  her  dear  memory  should  hold  them  together  in 
all  things  henceforth,  just  as  if  she  were  still  living 

51 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

in  their  midst.  Their  tears  fell  fast  over  the  still 
white  face,  so  unmoved  in  death, as  they  joined  hands 
with  him  in  answer  to  his  appeal.  The  one  daughter, 
the  Princess  of  Waldeck,  was  so  beside  herself  with 
grief,  that  it  took  all  my  mother's  firmness  to  enable 
her  to  regain  her  composure,  the  latter  being  indeed 
a  tower  of  strength  to  them  all  in  that  sad  hour. 

After  a  little  while  we  were  all  sent  away,  in 
order  that  the  laying  out  of  the  corpse  might  be 
attended  to,  before  too  great  rigidity  should  have 
set  in,  and  once  more  I  became  sadly  conscious  of  the 
shortcomings  of  human  nature,  at  least  in  my  own 
person,  as  the  pangs  of  hunger  began  to  assert  them- 
selves, after  this  prolonged  fast.  It  was  perhaps 
not  very  astonishing,  considering  my  youth,  that  I 
should  have  been  able  to  enjoy  even  at  such  a 
moment  the  repast  which  was  now  provided  for  me, 
but  I  felt  terribly  ashamed  of  myself,  above  all  that 
the  servants  waiting  on  me  should  see  me  eating  with 
such  hearty  appetite,  and  I  wondered  if  everyone 
thought  me  very  hard-hearted!  Had  I  not  fallen 
asleep  just  at  the  wrong  moment  too?  I  felt  thor- 
oughly small,  and  there  was  no  one  to  comfort  me 
with  the  assurance  that  it  was  not  my  heart  that  was 
in  fault,  but  only  my  poor  little  body  demanding  its 
rights ! 

In  the  one  drawing-room,  that  which  was  known 
as  the  "  sisters  '-room,"  as  it  had  specially  belonged 
to  my  aunts,  three  beds  were  put  up,  and  here  my 
mother  and  I  were  to  sleep  together  with  her  young- 
est sister,  for  the  house  was  so  overfull  that  proper 
accommodation  was  wanting,  the  dining-room,  the 

52 


GRANDMAMMA 

largest  room  of  all,  being  converted  into  a  chapelle 
ardente.  Of  this  last  detail  I  knew  nothing.  I  had 
been  so  simply  brought  up,  the  ways  of  a  Court  were 
unfamiliar  and  even  quite  distasteful  to  me.  Next 
morning  I  was  up  betimes,  and  without  disturbing 
anyone  I  crept  out  into  the  garden,  taking  with  me 
the  first  tablecloth  that  came  to  hand,  and  this  I  filled 
with  all  the  roses  I  could  gather,  fresh  fragrant 
roses,  still  wet  with  dew,  to  take  to  grandmamma. 
Without  a  word  to  anyone,  I  made  my  way  upstairs 
very  softly  to  her  room,  and  began  placing  my  roses 
in  a  big  garland  round  her.  I  did  not  feel  at  all 
afraid  at  first,  but  in  course  of  time  the  intense 
stillness  began  to  affect  me,  so  that  I  was  quite  glad 
when  Fraulein  von  Preen,  grandmamma's  lady-in- 
waiting,  came  into  the  room  with  one  or  two  of  the 
maids  and  helped  me  to  arrange  my  flowers.  The 
day  passed  slowly,  chiefly  taken  up  with  giviug 
orders  for  mourning,  bonnets  of  the  correct  shape, 
with  the  point  coming  very  low  down  on  the  fore- 
head, and  long  crape  veils,  falling  right  over  the 
heavy  folds  of  the  black  woollen  dresses  with  their 
long  trains.  I  too  was  to  have  a  little  black  woollen 
dress,  and  that  made  me  sadder  than  ever,  it  seemed 
to  me  such  a  melancholy  garb.  The  following  morn- 
ing I  again  got  up  as  early  as  possible,  feeling  rather 
impatient  to  see  my  aunt  go  on  sleeping  so  soundly, 
for  she  was  never  an  early  riser,  and  had  not  yet 
made  up  for  the  rest  she  had  lost.  But  I  hardly 
knew  what  to  do  with  myself,  having  been  told  that  I 
could  not  go  to  see  grandmamma  to-day,  and  I 
turned  and  twisted  about  restlessly  in  the  room. 

53 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

All  at  once  I  caught  sight  of  a  sheet  of  grand- 
mamma's own  special  pale  green  note-paper,  with 
something  written  on  it  in  her  hand-writing,  lying 
on  a  table.  Young  as  I  was,  I  quite  understood  that 
one  must  not  read  every  paper  one  sees  lying  about, 
my  mother  never  even  opened  a  letter  addressed  to 
me,  so  as  to  set  me  the  example  of  the  respect  due 
to  private  correspondence.  But  this  paper  lay 
spread  wide  open  for  every  one  to  see,  and  was 
evidently  not  a  letter  at  all,  that  much  was  clear  to 
me,  notwithstanding  my  short-sight.  It  was  cer- 
tainly allowable,  I  told  myself,  to  look  at  dear  grand- 
mamma's hand-writing  once  more.  It  turned  out  to 
be  a  translation  of  some  English  verses, — a  poem  of 
Longfellow's,  which  is  known  to  everybody,  but  with 
which  I  first  made  acquaintance  then,  through  the 
medium  of  grandmamma's  German  version.  The 
first  verse  of  the  original  runs : 

The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary, 
It  rains,  and  the  rain  is  never  weary; 
The  vine   still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
And  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreaTy. 

Quick  as  thought  I  had  made  a  cop3^  of  the  verses, 
and  leaving  the  paper  where  I  found  it,  I  was  read- 
ing my  treasure  through  once  more  when  my  aunt 
awoke  and  called  her  sister,  and  it  was  only  then 
that  I  noticed  that  my  mother  must  have  been  up  and 
dressed  before  me,  as  she  had  already  left  the  room. 
Th rusting  my  beloved  verses  back  in  my  pocket, 
I  softly  approached  my  aunt's  bedside,  wishing  her 
good  morning. — "Good  morning!"  she  replied,  con- 

54 


GRANDMAMMA 

tinuing  with  a  sigh: — "to-day  is  my  birthday!" — 
* '  Oh ! "  I  said,  and  could  find  no  more  to  say.  I  felt 
perfectly  well  how  unkind  and  unfeeling  I  must 
appear,  I  quite  understood  how  tragic  it  was  for  her, 
to  celebrate  her  eighteenth  birthday  beside  her 
mother's  open  coffin,  I  was  simply  choking  with 
affection  and  sympathy — but  I  could  not  get  out  a 
single  word  to  express  what  I  felt.  And  what  in- 
deed could  a  small  child  say  to  help  and  console! 
Myself  I  had  just  found  great  comfort  in  those  beau- 
tiful verses,  and  I  longed  to  show  her  these,  but  was 
not  quite  sure  whether  I  had  done  right  in  copying 
them,  and  so  my  poor  aunt  and  I  just  went  on  look- 
ing at  one  another  in  silence,  when  fortunately  my 
mother  came  in,  breaking  the  ice  with  the  warmth 
of  her  presence,  and,  finding  exactly  the  right  thing 
to  say,  in  the  fewest  words  possible,  as  she  folded 
her  sister  in  her  arms.  I  withdrew,  very  quietly, 
leaving  them  together,  and  that  was  perhaps  the  only 
sensible  thing  that  I  did,  or  could  have  done,  under 
the  circumstances. 

The  next  few  days  were  the  most  gloomy  and 
depressing  of  all,  with  the  lying  in  state  in  the 
chapelle  ardente,  in  which  grandmamma  seemed  to 
have  become  something  so  distant  and  removed  from 
me,  all  shrouded  in  lace,  and  with  tapers  burning 
round  her,  high  up  and  scarcely  to  be  seen  from  the 
steps  of  the  catafalque  on  which  we  could  only  kneel 
and  pray — no  longer  my  own  dear  grandmamma 
round  whom  I  might  strew  roses,  but  something  cold 
and  strange,  and  far-off,  at  which  crowds  came  to 
stare — a  mere  show !    I  wanted  to  think  of  her  still 

55 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

as  I  had  seen  her  the  evening  before  her  death, 
glorified,  as  it  were,  and  already  belonging  to  that 
other  and  better  world,  on  the  threshold  of  which  she 
stood;  it  was  on  this  picture  my  thoughts  loved  to 
dwell,  and  on  the  memory  of  her  last  kiss,  and  of  the 
magnificent  storm  which  raged  while  she  was  draw- 
ing her  last  breath.  Everything  that  had  come 
afterwards  was  dull  and  commonplace  in  compari- 
son— a  pageant,  out  of  which  the  loftiness  and  sanc- 
tification  had  departed !  Out  of  this  chilling  atmos- 
phere I  withdrew  then  more  and  more  into  myself, 
cherishing  these  sacred  recollections,  and  above  all 
musing  over  my  priceless  treasure,  the  poem  I  had 
discovered,  and  which  seemed  to  me  like  a  message 
from  grandmamma  herself ;  so  much  must  the  words 
have  meant  to  her,  I  fancied  I  could  hear  her  voice 
speaking  through  them;  and  so  little  heed  did  I  in 
consequence  pay  to  what  was  going  on  around  me, 
that  of  the  actual  funeral  ceremonies,  at  some  por- 
tion of  which  in  any  case  I  must  have  been  present, 
I  have  no  remembrance  at  all.  I  must  have  passed 
through  it  all  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  there  is  alto- 
gether a  blank  in  my  mind  concerning  it. 

Aunt  Sophie,  the  youngest  sister  of  my  mother, 
returned  with  us  to  Monrepos,  and  took  up  her  abode 
with  us  for  a  time.  She  became  betrothed,  still  in 
her  deep  mourning,  to  the  Prince  of  Sweden,  who 
suddenly  made  his  appearance  in  our  midst,  I  could 
not  at  all  make  out  why.  And  I  was  just  as  much 
puzzled  to  know  why,  one  evening  when  my  aunt  and 
Fraulein  von  Bunsen  were  playing  Haydn's  "Seven 
Words  from  the  Cross,"  as  arranged  by  Neukomm 

56 


GRANDMAMMA 

for  piano  and  organ,  the  prince  should  so  persist- 
ently have  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  my  aunt,  who  was 
only  playing  the  piano,  whilst  as  everyone  knows, 
the  organ,  which  Fraulein  von  Bunsen  was  playing, 
is  the  far  more  important  part !  He,  however,  never 
took  his  gaze  off  my  aunt,  who  certainly  looked  very 
interesting  with  her  well  cut  profile  thrown  up  by 
the  long  black  veil.  Later  on  I  understood  a  little 
better  what  it  meant,  after  I  had  heard  him  sing 
"Adelaide"  to  my  aunt's  accompaniment,  with  all 
the  power  of  his  fine  tenor  voice,  and  with  a  fervour 
of  expression  which  I  have  never  heard  since. 

Life  seemed  to  go  on  again  then  just  as  before, 
only  dear  grandmamma's  place  was  empty.  I  re- 
member too,  being  present  when  the  question  of  her 
tombstone  was  being  discussed.  It  had  been  her 
especial  desire,  not  to  be  put  inside  a  vault,  but  to  be 
buried  under  the  open  sky,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
it  was  a  very  poor  way  of  carrying  out  her  wish, 
if  after  all  a  great  heavy  stone  monument  were  to  be 
raised  above  her,  on  which  no  flowers  could  ever 
grow,  nor  the  sunshine  and  the  rains  of  heaven  pene- 
trate it.  Only  of  course  my  opinion  was  not  asked, 
and  I  kept  it  to  myself,  not  at  all  convinced  by  the 
explanation  given,  that  the  grave,  if  left  open  to  the 
sky,  and  not  covered  by  any  sort  of  tombstone,  would 
in  course  of  time  look  very  neglected  and  uncared 
for.  What  a  much  better  plan  it  were,  to  keep  the 
houses,  or  at  any  rate  the  rooms,  which  people  have 
lived  in,  sacred  to  their  memory,  by  leaving  them 
just  as  they  were  when  they  inhabited  them,  filled 
with  the  spirit  of  the  past!     That  would  be  a  true 

57 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  living  monument,  and  would  speak  with  far 
greater  eloquence  than  all  the  epitaphs  and  inscrip- 
tions, so  soon  effaced  and  forgotten. 

With  regard  to  myself,  my  mother  had  certainly 
accomplished  the  purpose  she  had  in  view,  perhaps 
even  more  fully  than  she  had  intended,  my  natural 
tendency  to  melancholy,  which  seldom  showed  itself 
on  the  surface,  being  fostered  and  encouraged  by 
events  of  such  gravity.  The  poetic  impulse  grew 
stronger,  but  was  kept  just  as  secret  as  all  the  rest 
of  my  inner  life.  I  was  always  writing  verses,  try- 
ing my  hand  even  at  a  novel,  and  now  to  all  the  old 
ideals  stirring  confusedly  within  me,  new  visions 
from  without  came  flashing  across  my  brain,  sug- 
gested by  the  scenes  of  death  and  mourning  I  had 
just  passed  through.  I  saw  again  the  dimly  lighted 
chamber,  the  first  rays  of  dawn  stealing  through 
upon  the  silvery  hair  and  motionless  form  of  the  old 
pastor,  and  playing  over  all  the  inanimate  objects, 
that  seemed  to  take  no  part  in  what  was  going  on. 
And  yet — had  not  her  own  little  clock  stood  still  at 
the  hour  of  four?  That  then  had  known  and  under- 
stood! But  I  told  no  one  my  impressions  and  sen- 
sations, my  deepest  and  strongest  feelings  I  had 
ever  been  accustomed  to  keep  to  myself,  it  being 
impossible  to  me  to  overcome  the  reserve  that,  un- 
fortunately for  me,  accompanied  so  highly-strung 
and  impulsive  a  temperament.  The  effort  to  unlock 
my  soul  would  have  cost  me  too  much,  and  I  felt  in- 
stinctively that  to  impart  its  tumult,  even  had  I  been 
able  to  do  so,  would  have  been  by  no  means  a  wel- 
come proceeding  to  those  around  me.    It  was  all  too 

58 


GRANDMAMMA 

strong,  too  wild,  too  violent.  So  I  shut  myself  up 
as  before,  and  went  on  living  in  a  world  of  my  own, 
very  much  more  true  and  real,  it  seemed  to  me,  than 
the  outer  world,  in  which  most  of  my  fellow-creat- 
ures were  content  to  live. 

Before  the  year  was  over,  my  father 's  mother  was 
also  dead.  But  I  had  never  known  her, — her  mind 
had  been  affected  for  many  years,  and  none  of  us 
ever  saw  her.  So  that  I  could  not  mourn  for  her, 
as  for  the  grandmamma  I  had  known  and  loved, 
and  it  was  to  the  latter  my  thoughts  flew  back  once 
more,  as  I  knelt  beside  the  coffin  of  her  who  had 
once  ruled,  as  wife  and  mother,  in  the  home  to  which 
she  now  only  returned  for  her  last  long  slumber. 
It  was  for  her  I  wept  again,  rather  than  for  this 
unknown  grandmother,  sorrow  for  whom  was  also 
somewhat  crushed  by  the  funeral  pomp  and  cere- 
mony. It  left  me  merely  a  little  sadder  and  more 
thoughtful  than  before,  as  having  had  yet  another 
lesson  in  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things. 


CHAPTER  m 

ERNST  MOR1TZ  ARNDT 

A  more  fiery  soul  than  that  of  Ernst  Moritz  Arndt 
can  surely  never  have  lived  upon  this  earth.  He 
must  have  been  fully  eighty  years  old  at  the  time 
when  I  knew  him,  but  age  seemed  to  count  for  noth- 
ing with  him.  His  eye  was  as  bright,  his  voice  as 
clear  and  ringing,  his  gait  as  quick  and  elastic  as 
had  he  still  been  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  the  most 
impassioned  speech  from  youthful  lips  would  have 
seemed  tame  and  cold  beside  the  lava-flood  of  elo- 
quence that  poured  forth  inexhaustibly  from  his 
kindly  and  expressive,  although  perfectly  toothless 
mouth.  The  loss  of  his  teeth  was  indeed  the  only 
real  sign  of  age  Arndt  bore  on  his  person,  and  it 
was  apparently  a  matter  of  so  little  moment  to  him, 
that  I  have  often  wondered  since,  whether  our  modern 
practice  of  repairing  by  artificial  means  the  ravages 
of  time,  be  after  all  so  unquestionable  an  advantage 
as  some  would  pretend.  The  mouth  which  nature 
alone  has  moulded  year  by  year  seems  to  me  to  re- 
tain in  any  case  much  more  character  and  expression 
than  that  which  has  been  fitted  out  and  shaped  anew 
by  the  dentist's  skill.  However  that  may  be,  it  is 
certain  that  Arndt  at  all  events  felt  not  in  the  least 
inconvenienced  by  the  loss,  nor  did  it  detract  from 
our  pleasure  in  listening  to  him. 

It  was  during  our  stay  in  Bonn,  whither  we  had 
migrated  in  order  to  be  near  a  celebrated  doctor, 

60 


ERNST  MORITZ  ARNDT 

that  we  saw  the  venerable  poet  so  constantly.  Two 
years  of  my  childhood  were  spent  in  the  charming 
little  University  town,  in  the  hope  that  my  younger 
brother,  an  invalid  from  his  birth,  and  my  mother, 
whose  health  then  gave  much  cause  for  anxiety, 
might  both  of  them  derive  great  and  lasting  benefit 
from  the  treatment  of  the  great  specialist.  And  if 
these  hopes  were  doomed  to  disappointment, — and 
it  seemed  indeed,  as  an  old  friend  of  our  family 
afterwards  remarked,  as  if  the  very  best  efforts  of 
medical  skill  must  here  for  ever  prove  unavailing, — 
there  were  on  the  other  hand  certain  compensations 
attendant  on  our  stay,  in  the  shape  of  the  opportuni- 
ties for  intercourse  it  afforded  with  so  many  highly 
interesting  people.  And  first  and  foremost  among 
these  Arndt  must  be  reckoned,  as  the  most  constant 
and  ever  welcome  guest.  His  visits  were  indeed  of 
quite  unconventional  length,  for  he  would  often  stay 
for  hours  at  a  time,  now  reading  aloud  to  my 
mother  one  of  her  favourite  Swedish  books,  now 
relating  to  us  children  some  thrilling  episode  of  the 
War  of  Liberation,  in  which  he  had  played  so  con- 
spicuous a  part. 

He  was  of  such  exuberant  vivacity,  that  he  talked 
till  he  literally  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  gesticu- 
lated wildly,  sometimes  enforcing  what  he  said  by  a 
little  friendly  tap  on  my  mother's  shoulder,  that 
made  her  shrink, — for  in  her  weak  condition,  the 
merest  touch  sufficed  to  bring  on  one  of  her  nervous 
attacks, — sometimes  contenting  himself  with  press- 
ing a  heavy  finger  on  my  forehead,  as  I  sat  on  his 
knee,  and  gazed  up  in  his  face.    I  was  all  eyes  and 

61 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

ears,  drinking  in  his  words  with  that  undivided 
attention  that  only  children  can  give,  and  myself  all 
on  fire  with  excitement.  For  he  talked  and  talked, 
working  himself  up  into  as  burning  a  fever  as  if  the 
French  had  still  been  in  the  land,  and  Germany 
smarting  under  a  foreign  yoke,  and  poor  Queen 
Louisa  still  fretting  her  heart  out  for  her  country's 
misfortunes !  It  was  all  so  real,  so  present  for  him ! 
He  lived  back  in  those  days  once  more,  and  fought 
the  old  campaigns  over  again,  and  was  for  ever  con- 
triving some  new  plan  for  his  country's  salvation 
and  welfare, — now  inventing  some  marvellous  new 
weapon  that  should  rid  her  of  all  her  foes, — now 
devising  some  infallible  means  of  making  her  strong 
and  united !  For  the  dream  of  German  Unity  never 
abandoned  him,  and  there  was  nothing  made  him  so 
wild  with  indignation  as  for  anyone  to  dare  to  assert 
that  Germany  was  a  mere  geographical  expression. 
Small  wonder  that  we  children  listened  with  beat- 
ing hearts  and  cheeks  aflame  to  the  story  of  the  stir- 
ring times,  still  so' near  to  the  elder  generation,  mem- 
bers of  our  family  too  being  yet  alive,  great-aunts 
and  great-uncles  among  us  to  that  day,  who  had  also 
lived  through  them,  and  the  very  walls  of  our  castle 
at  Neuwied  still  bearing  the  marks  of  the  bullets, 
fired  against  it  by  the  soldiers  of  General  Hoche. 
Bn1  better  still,  Arndt  would  often  recite  to  us  some 
of  his  own  poems,  both  from  the  earlier  ones,  written 
during  the  war,  and  from  those  of  more  recent  date, 
all  of  them  glowing  with  the  same  patriotic  fervour, 
and  kindling  a  like  enthusiasm  in  the  minds  of  his 
youthful  hearers. 

62 


ERNST  MORITZ  ARNDT 

There  were,  however,  fortunately  other  influences 
at  work,  to  combat  what  might  have  been  a  some- 
what one-sided  teaching,  and  prevent  us  from  believ- 
ing that  our  old  friend  possessed  a  monopoly  of 
patriotism.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  Monsieur 
Monnard,  the  very  interesting  French  professor  at 
the  university,  whose  refinement  of  speech  and  quiet 
manner  were  in  their  way  quite  as  effective  and  con- 
vincing as  Arndt's  stormy  vehemence,  and  lent  a 
peculiar  charm  to  his  conversation.  To  his 
daughter  too,  a  most  charming  creature,  I  owed  a 
debt  of  gratitude  for  one  of  the  chief  joys  of  my 
childhood,  that  delightful  book  "Augustan,"  in 
which  she  had  told  the  story,  as  I  afterwards  heard, 
of  her  own  child  whom  she  had  lost.  When  I  made 
her  acquaintance,  I  had  read  her  book  a  hundred 
times,  and  almost  knew  it  by  heart!  And  besides 
these  two,  whose  love  of  their  country  was  none  the 
less  intense,  I  felt,  for  being  very  calmly  expressed, 
there  was  another  frequent  guest  in  whom  that  senti- 
ment was  evidently  the  ruling  passion  and  guiding 
principle  in  life.  The  last-mentioned,  Demetrius 
Stourdza,  was  a  slight,  spare,  very  dark  young  man, 
who  had  come  from  a  far-off,  and  to  me  then  quite 
unknown  country,  to  pursue  his  studies  at  the  uni- 
versity, whilst  his  two  younger  brothers  followed  the 
classes  at  the  gymnasium  or  public  school.  When 
he  spoke  of  his  home  on  the  distant  Moldau,  of  his 
oppressed,  unhappy  country,  it  was  in  terms  of  the 
same  ardent  affection,  the  same  irrepressible  emo- 
tion, as  were  Arndt's  in  telling  the  story  of  Ger- 
many's wrongs;  only  the  ills  of  which  the  young 

63 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

student  had  to  tell  dated  much  further  back  and 
were  so  deeply  rooted  as  to  appear  well  nigh  incur- 
able. Not  only  had  his  country  groaned  for  centu- 
ries under  foreign  tyranny,  but  she  was  also  torn  by 
internal  feuds,  split  into  two  provinces,  Moldavia 
and  Wallachia,  constantly  warring  one  with  the 
other,  so  that  there  seemed  little  prospect  of  national 
independence  being  attained.  He  spoke  with  great 
enthusiasm  of  his  mother-tongue,  the  beautiful  Rou- 
manian language,  common  heritage  of  the  two  prov- 
inces, and  I  remember  how,  at  my  mother's  request, 
he  one  day  spoke  a  few  words  of  Roumanian,  to  let 
us  hear  the  soft  melodious  sounds.  Years  after,  on 
my  first  arrival  in  Roumania,  when  the  train  drew 
up  in  the  station  at  Bucarest,  the  first  person  to  step 
forward  from  the  crowd  waiting  on  the  platform  to 
greet  me,  was  Demetrius  Stourdza,  my  old  acquaint- 
ance in  his  student  days  at  Bonn,  afterwards  to  be 
more  than  once  Prime  Minister.  I  certainly,  at  the 
time  I  am  speaking  of,  little  foresaw  this  second 
meeting,  but  what  did  strike  me  then  was  the 
strength  and  depth  of  this  stranger's  attachment  to 
his  country,  perhaps  all  the  stronger  and  deeper 
for  being  coupled  with  such  hopelessness.  All  these 
things  made  a  profound  impression  on  my  childish 
mind,  and  gave  me  much  to  reflect  upon.  For  even 
then  I  was  already  dreaming, — wild  heedless  crea- 
ture as  I  was  generally  supposed  to  be,  and  as  I  had 
come  to  consider  myself.  So  strong  a  hold  had  this 
belief  taken  of  me,  that  nothing  could  well  equal  my 
surprise,  when  some  forty  years  later,  meeting  one 
of  the  companions  of  these  early  days,  and  asking 

64 


ERNST  MORITZ  ARNDT 

her  to  tell  me  how  I  had  appeared  to  her  then,  she 
replied  without  hesitation, — "Most  terribly  seri- 
ous!" For  the  moment  I  was  perfectly  amazed; 
but,  looking  back  once  more  on  the  past,  and  taking 
into  account  the  lively  recollection  I  have  retained, 
not  merely  of  scenes  and  events,  but  also  of  persons 
whom  I  met,  and  above  all  of  the  conversations  that 
went  on  around  me  from  my  eighth  to  my  tenth  year, 
the  conviction  is  forced  upon  me,  that  I  must  have 
brought  to  bear  on  them  very  close  attention,  and  an 
amount  of  discernment  hardly  compatible  with  the 
character  of  careless  high  spirits  with  which  I  was 
usually  credited. 

To  return  to  Arndt:  it  was  only  natural  that, 
whatever  might  arrest  our  attention  elsewhere,  his 
personality  remained  the  dominating  one  and  was 
invested  for  us  with  a  sort  of  halo.  Had  he  not  him- 
self taken  part  in  the  deeds  he  told  us  of,  and  known 
and  immortalised  the  heroes  by  whom  the  best  of 
these  were  accomplished, — in  songs  we  knew  by  heart 
and  sang  almost  before  we  could  speak  plainly?  At 
that  time,  I  had  never  heard  of  the  tragedy  which 
darkened  his  domestic  life, — that  he  had  known  little 
happiness  in  his  own  family,  and  had  on  one  occa- 
sion treated  one  of  his  sons  with  such  harshness, 
that  the  young  man  went  out  and  threw  himself 
into  the  Rhine,  his  body  being  afterwards  sought 
for  in  vain  for  three  days  and  nights  by  the  dis- 
tracted parents.  Of  all  this  I  knew  nothing  then, — 
I  saw  in  him  only  the  patriot,  the  poet,  the  magician 
who  could  work  such  marvels  with  words.  It  was 
a  revelation  to  me,  this  of  the  wondrous  power  of 
5  65 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

language,  and  of  all  the  lessons  I  unconsciously 
learned  at  that  early  age  it  was  perhaps  the  one  that 
I  most  readily  and  thoroughly  assimilated,  being  the 
most  congenial  to  my  own  nature,  and  corresponding 
to  its  potential  needs.  It  is  a  pity  that  children  are 
generally  so  reserved  and  reticent,  for  a  child  of 
enquiring  mind  would  learn  much  more,  could  it  but 
impart  its  own  thoughts  and  enquire  about  the 
things  that  puzzle  it.  But  a  sensitive  child  broods 
in  silence  over  its  own  imaginings,  very  often  per- 
plexed by  some  very  simple  matter  which  a  word 
might  explain.  And  who  indeed  could  have  guessed 
that  these  were  the  first  stirrings  of  the  poetic  tem- 
perament within  me,  called  into  life  by  the  person- 
ality of  the  aged  poet,  towards  whom  I  felt  myself 
irresistibly  drawn!  Poetry  was  certainly  my  native 
element.  I  could  already  recite  Schiller's  Diver  and 
the  Fight  with  the  Dragon,  and  the  other  principal 
ballads ;  I  learnt  by  heart  with  the  greatest  facility, 
and  to  hear  a  short  poem  read  over  once  was  enough, 
I  could  repeat  it  without  a  mistake.  It  was  so  much 
inflammable  material,  one  might  say,  collected  within 
my  brain,  and  awaiting  but  the  approach  of  the 
lighted  match  to  ignite,  and  kindle  to  a  blaze. 

I  wish  I  could  remember  some  of  Arndt's  own 
words  to  quote  here.  But  of  that  verbal  brilliancy, 
that  inexhaustible  flow  of  speech,  it  is  necessarily  the 
general  impression  that  remains,  rather  than  the 
exact  form  in  which  it  was  cast,  and  I  would  not 
dare  attempt  to  render  this.  Some  of  his  more 
humorous  sayings,  however,  I  have  preserved  text- 
ually,  and  need  therefore  not  hesitate  to  give  the 

66 


ERNST  MORITZ  ARNDT 

following  specimen: — "When  I  write  to  the  King," 
he  one  day  explained, — "I  do  not  trouble  my  head 
with  all  that  rubbish  of  humbly  and  dutifully,  and 
most  gracious  this  and  most  gracious  that,  but  sim- 
ply say  Your  Majesty,  and  then  plain  you  and  your, 
and  afterwards  perhaps  just  one  more  Majesty  to 
wind  up  with — for  all  the  absurd  rigmarole  of  Court 
lingo  is  more  than  I  can  stand." 

To  the  very  last  Arndt  was  busy  and  eager,  as  I 
have  said,  for  the  cause  of  German  Unity,  and  we 
were  all  heart  and  soul  with  him  in  wishing  well  to 
that  cause.  The  year  1848  had  not  long  gone  past, 
with  all  its  unrest,  and  with  the  high  hopes  and  daz- 
zling day  dreams  it  had  brought,  and  from  one  of 
those  dreams  we  had  hardly  awakened  yet, — that 
which  we  dreamt  as  we  saw  folk  going  about  wearing 
their  black,  red  and  yellow  cockades,  as  if  by  so  doing 
they  could  bring  all  Germany  under  one  flag  and 
place  the  Imperial  crown  on  the  head  of  the  Prussian 
king.  From  the  balcony  at  Heidelberg  my  little 
four-year-old  brother  had  helped  to  give  the  word  of 
command  to  the  volunteers  mustered  in  the  square 
below,  but  all  that  excitement  had  died  out  again, 
and  things  had  drifted  back  into  the  old  well-worn 
grooves.  The  times  were  not  yet  ripe,  and  much 
water  would  have  to  flow  down  the  Rhine  to  the  sea, 
ere  that  fair  dream  should  become  reality.  Clever 
and  interesting  as  the  Prussian  king  undoubtedly 
was,  it  was  not  in  his  person  that  the  traditions  of 
the  German  Empire  were  to  be  revived ;  that  was  to 
be  the  work  of  another,  of  whom  at  that  period  no 
one  thought, — the  exile  who  was  then  looking  down 

67 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

sadly  and  wearily  from  his  window  upon  a  London 
street. 

To  conclude  this  brief  sketch  of  Arndt,  I  can 
hardly  do  better  than  transcribe  the  verses  which 
about  this  time  he  wrote  in  my  mother's  album: 

In  God's  own  image  thou  wast  made; 
Of  Heaven's  pure  light  an  emanation, 
That  down  to  this  dark  world  has  strayed. 
Tis  this  Heaven's  truest  revelation. 

Nor  for  thyself  alone  was  lent 
Yon  ray  that  lights  thy  path  thus  kindly; 
Each  as  the  other's  guide  was  meant, 
Here  where  all  grope  and  struggle  blindly. 

Still  to  thy  dream  of  Heaven  hold  fast! 

For  then,  whatever  ills  assail  thee,  • 

Though  every  earthly  joy  fly  past, 

This  one  sure  hope  shall  never  fail  thee! 

Bonn,  23.  of  the  May-month,  1853. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BERNAYS 

Another  much  valued  frieud  of  ours  was  the 
great  scholar  Bernays.  He  also  was  a  coustaut  vis- 
itor whilst  we  were  living  in  Bonn,  often  sitting  for 
hours  beside  my  mother's  invalid  couch,  talking  to 
her.  But  he  never  partook  of  a  meal  in  our  house, 
and  my  childish  mind  was  much  troubled  at  this. 
His  explanation  was,  that  being  a  Jew,  he  must 
avoid  being  drawn  into  anything  contrary  to  the 
customs  and  observances  of  his  race.  For  his  con- 
scientious scruples,  no  less  than  for  his  profound 
learning  and  the  breadth  and  liberality  of  his  views, 
my  parents  entertained  the  very  highest  respect  and 
admiration,  my  mother  in  particular  never  wearying 
of  hearing  him  discourse  on  one  or  other  of  those 
deeper  problems  that  will  forever  occupy  men's 
minds,  rejoicing  meanwhile  to  feel  her  own  store  of 
knowledge  increase  and  her  intelligence  expand  in 
this  congenial  atmosphere. 

Bernays  was  not  merely  well-read  in  the  Jewish 
Scriptures,  but  seemed  to  know  the  New  Testament 
also  better  than  we  did  ourselves,  and  his  ideas  on 
religious  topics  were  always  striking  and  impres- 
sive. I  did  not  then  know  of  his  intimate  friendship 
with  Ernest  Renan,  and  of  the  correspondence  they 
kept  up.  I  was  indeed  at  this  time  considered  much 
too  young  to  be  admitted  even  as  a  listener  to  the 
long  and  serious  conversations — of  such  absorbing 

69 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

interest  to  both  my  parents — that  took  place  between 
them  and  Bernays.  The  latter,  I  have  since  heard, 
felt  it  a  great  hardship  that  he  should  be  excluded, 
on  account  of  his  nationality,  from  holding  a  profes- 
sorship at  the  University,  and  this  in  spite  of  his 
being  in  his  own  line  probably  the  finest  scholar 
Bonn  has  ever  produced.  As  for  my  own  childish 
impression,  I  confess  that  it  was  chiefly  one  of  awe 
at  the  solemn,  rather  severe-looking  personage, 
whose  eyes  seemed  to  wear  an  expression  of  such 
unchanging  gravity  behind  their  dark  spectacles. 
He  was  in  point  of  fact  much  too  short-sighted  to  see 
other  faces  clearly,  and  thus  no  ray  of  recognition 
ever  lit  up  his  own. 

It  was  on  account  of  his  short-sightedness,  and  the 
nervousness  that  arose  from  it,  that  my  mother 
always  insisted  on  sending  a  manservant,  carrying 
a  lantern,  to  accompany  Bernays  home,  whenever  he 
had  spent  the  evening  with  us.  For  the  streets  of 
Bonn  were  by  no  means  brilliantly  illuminated  in 
those  days.  Whenever  full  moon  was  down  in  the 
almanack,  then  very  few  street  lamps  were  lit.  But 
certainly  the  moonlight  nights  were  of  exceptional 
loveliness.  Our  villa,  which  was  called  the  Vinea 
Domini,  had  a  beautiful  big  garden,  sloping  right 
down  to  the  banks  of  the  Ehine.  Many  and  many 
an  evening  was  spent  on  the  terrace  in  the  moon- 
shine, watching  the  boats  glide  past,  and  it  was 
hardly  ever  before  the  last  steamer  came  puffing 
along,  that  the  party  broke  up.  "Here  comes  the 
late  boat!"  was  a  sort  of  standing  joke,  used  as  a 
signal  for  departure  by  more  intimate  friends,  to- 

70 


BERNAYS 

wards  guests  inclined  to  tarry  perhaps  all  too  long. 
On  such  occasions,  when  the  conversation  threatened 
to  spin  itself  out  into  the  small  hours  of  the  night, 
and  my  mother  began  to  look  tired  out,  someone — 
and  more  often  than  not  it  was  Prince  Eeuss,  the 
future  ambassador,  then  young  and  full  of  high 
spirits — would  call  out : i '  Here  is  the  evening  boat, ' ' 
and  the  assembly  would  at  last  disperse.  To  the 
minds  of  all  who  took  part  in  those  pleasant  gather- 
ings, the  remembrance  of  the  pretty  house,  with 
its  sweet  garden,  must  have  been  endeared.  But 
they  alas!  no  longer  exist;  have  long  since  disap- 
peared, and  the  ground  has  been  cut  up  and  built 
over. 

I  was  too  young  at  that  time,  as  I  have  said,  to  be 
allowed  to  hear  much  of  the  discussions  that  went 
on,  and  I  have  often  thought  since  that  it  was  a  pity 
that  I  should  have  missed  the  chance  of  profiting 
by  them.  For,  child  as  I  was,  I  was  studious  and 
thoughtful  beyond  my  years,  and  being  of  a  natur- 
ally devout  temperament,  which  was  fostered  by 
our  pious  training,  I  would  have  given  much  to  hear 
my  parents'  learned  friend,  whom  they  held  in  such 
unbounded  veneration,  expound  his  views  on  relig- 
ion. It  would  have  been  worth  still  more,  I  have 
often  said  to  myself  since,  to  hear  one  so  remark- 
able discourse,  could  they  but  have  been  brought 
together,  with  those  kindred  spirits,  Benan  and  Tol- 
stoi !  As  it  was,  of  the  rich  spiritual  feast  set  forth 
in  such  profusion,  it  was  but  a  few  crumbs  that  fell 
to  my  share.  I  cannot  therefore  profess  to  quote 
from  memory  Bernays's  precise  words  on  any  occa- 

71 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

sion,  and  should  be  the  more  diffident  of  the  attempt, 
since  he  is  no  longer  in  this  world,  to  correct  any 
mistake  I  might  inadvertently  make.  But  very 
many  of  his  arguments  and  inferences  remained 
with  me,  together  with  a  very  clear  apprehension 
of  their  general  scope  and  tendency.  Of  the  dog- 
matic value  attaching  to  these,  it  is  not  for  me  to 
decide ;  but  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  me,  in 
chronicling  these  memories  of  my  childhood,  not  to 
give  full  prominence  to  the  striking  personality 
whose  teaching  exercised  so  unbounded  an  influence 
over  the  minds  of  my  parents,  whilst  in  my  own  its 
mere  echoes  may  possibly  have  aroused  the  first  in- 
terest in  the  philosophy  of  religion,  which  I  have 
retained  throughout  my  life.  For  long  years  his 
opinion  was  constantly  cited  in  our  family  circle ; — 
"Bernays  said  this,"  or,  "Bernays  would  have 
thought  so  and  so,"  were  phrases  of  daily  recur- 
rence, and  carried  with  them  the  authority  of  an 
oracle. 

It  was  a  favourite  assertion  of  Bernays,  that  the 
Jewish  is  the  only  religion  which  has  kept  itself  free 
from  anj7  taint  of  fetichism ;  Christianity,  like  every 
other  religion  which  is  bent  on  proselytising,  having 
been  powerless  to  avoid  contamination  from  the  be- 
liefs and  practices  of  heathen  nations,  among  whom 
its  first  converts  were  made.  Is  there  not  perhaps 
some  truth  in  this  contention?  Is  it  not  the  weak 
point  in  the  armour  of  every  Faith  that  lays  itself 
out  for  propaganda,  that  it  is  insensibly  betrayed 
into  making  concessions,  and  thereby  inevitably  in 
the  long  run  falls  away  from  its  lofty  ideals !    Chris- 

72 


BERNAYS 

tianity,  we  must  own  with  shame,  has  lowered  its 
standard  since  the  days  when  its  first  teachings 
flowed,  pure  and  untarnished,  from  the  lips  of  its 
Divine  Founder.  And  were  we,  who  call  ourselves 
Christians,  to  measure  our  thoughts  and  actions  by 
the  pattern  set  before  us  in  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  must  we  not  blush  at  our  own  short-comings! 
It  was  certainly  by  no  means  incomprehensible  to 
me,  that  our  friend  should  have  taken  it  so  ill,  when 
his  own  brother  became  a  Christian.  On  that  point 
I  have  always  had,  I  own,  very  much  the  feeling  of 
the  Roumanians,  whose  dislike  to  any  change  of  re- 
ligion is  so  thorough  and  intense,  that  they  use  the 
same  expression — "s  a'  turcit," — i.e.,  "he  has  be- 
come a  Turk,  a  Mahomedan,"  indiscriminately  to 
denote  any  change  of  faith,  whether  on  the  part  of 
one  becoming  a  Christian  or  a  Mussulman.  Quite 
different  in  this  from  their  Russian  brethren  of  the 
Orthodox  Church,  the  Roumanians  view  with  abso- 
lute disfavour  the  action  of  those  who  join  their 
communion.  To  them  such  an  act  is  always  simply 
apostasy,  and  their  language  possesses  no  other 
term  by  which  to  designate  it.  In  this,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  am  much  in  sympathy  with  them.  Is  it 
not  an  admission  of  weakness,  to  say  the  least, 
deliberately  to  abandon  the  Faith  of  our  Fathers 
and  enter  another  fold?  Since  all  Churches  are  in 
a  sense  human  institutions,  what  advantage  have 
we  in  leaving  the  one  in  which  we  were  born  and 
brought  up,  only  to  find  that  of  our  choice  equally 
fallible  and  imperfect !  Should  we  not  content  our- 
selves with  doing  our  very  best,  in  all  honesty  and 

73 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

sincerity  of  purpose,  within  the  community  in  which 
our  lot  is  cast,  striving  to  raise  its  aims  and  purify 
its  ordinances,  rather  than  impatiently  to  fling  aside 
fetters  that  have  perhaps  become  irksome,  only  by 
so  doing  to  burden  ourselves  with  other  and  per- 
chance heavier  chains,  and  from  which  we  must  no 
longer  seek  to  free  ourselves,  seeing  that  they  are  of 
our  own  choosing?  Is  then  the  outward  form  under 
which  we  worship  God,  of  so  much  importance  after 
all  ?  Some  form  undoubtedly  there  must  be,  as  long 
as  human  beings  meet  together  for  prayer  and 
praise,  feeling  themselves  thereby  more  fitly  dis- 
posed for  their  orisons  and  thanksgiving;  but  let 
us  not  forget  that  the  essence  of  all  service  consists 
in  its  being  performed  "in  spirit  and  in  truth!" 
The  rest  matters  little. 

In  the  home  that  is  now  mine,  Nathan  the  Wise 
might  be  welcomed  daily,  he  would  find  here  mem- 
bers of  widely  differing  confessions  dwelling  to- 
gether in  harmony  in  one  family.  Catholic,  Protes- 
tant and  Orthodox,  each  respects  the  other's  faith, 
and  never  has  the  slightest  discord  arisen.  As  for 
the  children,  they  have  certainly  never  had  occasion 
to  feel,  that  the  creed  in  which  they  are  being 
brought  up  in  any  way  differs  from  that  of  their 
elders.  And  in  our  household  there  is  an  Israelite 
to  be  reckoned  among  our  secretaries,  and  he  it  is 
who  is  my  most  faithful  auxiliary  in  all  charitable 
work.  So  that  of  religious  intolerance  or  narrow- 
mindedness  it  can  surely  never  be  question  among 
us,  and  I  have  been  able  to  live  on  here  true  to  the 
lessons  and  traditions  of  my  youth.    Nor  can  any 

74 


BERNAYS 

accusation  of  having  recently  either  sanctioned  or 
connived  at  the  so-called  persecution  of  the  Jews, 
be  equitably  brought  against  the  Roumanian  govern- 
ment. What  really  took  place  was  this.  In  this 
sparely  populated  country,  in  which  all  industries 
and  manufactures  are  in  the  hands  of  foreigners, — 
notably  of  the  Jews, — a  succession  of  bad  harvests, 
after  causing  indescribable  suffering  in  agricultural 
districts,  at  length  made  itself  felt  in  the  commer- 
cial centres  also.  There  had  been  no  crops,  and 
consequently  no  food  for  man  or  beast,  no  work 
done  on  the  land  for  years,  and  there  was  no  money 
forthcoming;  as  a  result  trade  naturally  suffered, 
and  to  such  an  extent  that  numbers  of  the  traders — : 
not  merely  Jews,  but  Catholics  and  Protestants 
also — left  the  land.  They  were  not  driven  away, 
except  by  the  same  untoward  circumstances  that 
pressed  so  heavily  on  the  whole  nation;  they  emi- 
grated voluntarily  from  a  land  which  could  no 
longer  afford  them  the  means  of  subsistence.  As 
long  as  it  was  merely  the  peasantry  who  were  starv- 
ing, all  Europe  looked  on  with  the  greatest  indif- 
ference, perhaps  even  in  ignorance  of  what  was 
going  on;  but  directly  the  consequences  of  those 
years  of  famine  began  to  affect  the  commercial  and 
industrial  classes,  then  all  Europe  was  in  an  uproar. 
If,  however,  to  this  last  story  of  persecution  an 
emphatic  denial  may  be  given,  it  by  no  means  fol- 
lows that  I  would  condone  the  cruel  treatment  to 
which  in  bygone  centuries  Jews  have  constantly  been 
subjected,  at  the  hands  of  their  Christian  brethren. 
Perhaps  those  very  persecutions  have  served  a  little 

75 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

to  make  them  what  they  are, — so  strong,  so  united, 
so  self-reliant.  Another  source  of  strength  has  lain 
in  the  absence  of  all  missionary  zeal  that  character- 
ises Judaism.  Never  have  its  followers  either  de- 
sired or  sought  to  induce  other  nations  to  espouse 
their  belief.  The  hatred  therefore  with  which  they 
often  inspire  these  others  has  less  its  origin  in  re- 
ligious fanaticism  than  in  instinctive  antagonism 
of  race.  Eeligious  wars  have  often  been  but  a  name 
and  a  pretext  under  which  the  stronger,  fundamen- 
tal, racial  antagonism  has  asserted  itself,  and  in  this 
case  their  bitterness  has  been  intensified  by  the  quiet 
tenacity,  the  unfailing  resource,  the  indomitable 
energy  and  absolute  cohesion  of  the  numerically 
weaker  and  disadvantageously  situated  party.  No 
nation  can  enjoy  seeing  the  stranger  within  its 
gates  flourishing  to  the  detriment  of  the  children  of 
the  soil,  and  the  jealousy,  suspicion  and  dislike 
which  the  prosperity  of  the  former  excites,  has  per- 
haps not  infrequently  been  in  direct  ratio  to  the 
inability  of  the  latter  to  turn  their  own  natural 
advantages  to  equally  good  account.  Were  it  not 
wiser  on  our  part,  instead  of  pursuing  senseless 
animosities,  to  learn  from  the  people  we  have  too 
long  despised  and  perhaps  unduly  mistrusted,  the 
secret  of  their  success,  the  lesson  of  courage,  endur- 
ance, of  steadfast  faith  in  God,  which  has  preserved 
them  through  all  dangers,  as  living  witnesses  to  His 
power  and  goodness? 

[f  to  this  end  we  study  with  renewed  attention  the 
history  of  the  Jewish  race,  we  find  all  the  qualities 
that  constitute  their  strength  concentrated  and  car- 

7<J 


BERN AYS 

ried  to  the  highest  pitch  in  the  person  of  one  man, 
the  wisest  and  greatest  perhaps  of  whom  any  nation 
can  boast,  and  to  whose  almost  superhuman  talents 
and  energies  the  very  survival  of  his  nation  must 
be  attributed.  The  debt  owed  to  Moses  by  his  fel- 
low-countrymen can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  Law- 
giver and  judge,  physician  and  priest,  their  leader 
in  war  and  peace,  where  has  there  ever  been  the 
monarch  who  could  compare  with  this  marvellously 
gifted  individual,  founder  of  a  religion,  of  a  Code, 
of  a  nation,  that  has  victoriously  withstood  all 
perils,  and  outlived  the  mighty  empires  by  which  it 
was  overthrown  and  oppressed.  Caesar,  Charle- 
magne and  Haroun-al-Rashid,  wise  and  powerful 
as  they  may  have  been,  must  each  yield  the  palm  to 
Moses,  for  their  work  has  left  no  trace,  the  ideals  to 
which  they  devoted  their  lives  are  but  an  empty 
name,  whilst  the  Hebrew,  born  in  servitude,  has  left 
his  mark  on  the  thought,  the  action,  and  the  relig- 
ion of  the  whole  Gentile  world,  and  made  of  the 
wretched  tribes,  whom  he  led  forth  out  of  bondage, 
a  nation  increasing  daily  in  number  and  in  strength, 
wealthy  beyond  all  others,  and  rapidly  spreading 
over  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  would  seem  indeed  as 
if  the  evils  engendered  by  too  great  riches  and  pros- 
perity were  the  sole  danger  seriously  threatening 
the  Jewish  race.  Already  in  bygone  days  it  was 
against  this  rock  that  they  more  than  once  well-nigh 
suffered  shipwreck ;  and  had  not  the  salutary  school 
of  adversity  called  them  back  from  their  foolish 
pride  to  saner  counsels,  humanity  might  have  been 

77 


from  memory's  shrine 

the  poorer  by  the  loss  of  these  foremost  champions 
of  monotheism. 

That  loss  indeed  we  could  ill  afford.  We  are  only 
too  apt  to  forget,  that  it  is  to  this  despised  race  that 
we  owe  one  priceless  treasure,  the  book  of  books,  the 
Bible,  in  which  scarce  out  of  infancy  we  were  taught 
to  read,  and  which  remains  our  chief  comfort 
throughout  life.  In  it  the  highest  wisdom  stands 
revealed  in  so  noble  a  form,  truth  and  poetry  are 
blended  together  to  such  perfect  harmony,  the  result 
is  a  masterpiece  whose  like  no  other  literature  in 
the  whole  world  can  match.  Does  not  the  finest 
work  of  all  other  great  poets  sink  into  insignificance 
beside  the  sublime  utterances  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets?  In  long  dark  dreary  sleepless  nights,  I 
know  not  where  such  solace  for  weary  souls  may  be 
found,  as  in  the  magnificent  imagery,  the  impas- 
sioned language  of  Isaiah  and  Jeremiah.  All  the 
sorrow  and  suffering  of  the  human  heart  since  the 
beginning  of  Time  seem  to  cry  aloud  with  their 
voice,  and  it  were  vain  to  seek  help  in  other  books 
of  devotion,  whilst  the  words  of  these  grandest 
spirits  are  there,  to  speak  for  us  and  bring  us  more 
than  earthly  consolation.  Surely  none  has  ever 
steeped  his  soul  in  these  writings,  and  not  risen 
from  their  perusal  strengthened  and  refreshed.  We 
might  do  without  all  other  books,  provided  only  this 
one,  the  source  of  life,  the  Revelation  of  God  to 
man,  were  left  us.  For,  together  with  the  sublime 
poetry  of  the  Psalms  and  the  prophetic  books,  what 
wisdom  and  learning,  rules  of  conduct  for  all  seasons 
and  under  all  circumstances,  are  stored  up  here! 

78 


BERNAYS 

The  Jew,  who  follows  the  letter  of  the  Law,  need 
never  be  at  a  loss  as  to  the  right  course  to  take ;  the 
pathway  of  duty  is  clearly  marked  for  him,  and 
under  whatever  vicissitudes  of  fortune  he  will  have 
in  his  own  Scriptures  as  sure  a  guide  as  was  the 
Ark  of  the  Covenant  to  the  footsteps  of  his  fathers. 
As  to  the  historic  books  of  the  Old  Testament,  their 
simplicity  and  directness  are  a  strong  testimony 
in  favour  of  the  veracity  of  the  writers ;  and  I  was 
much  struck  once  by  the  suggestive  remark  of  a  Jew 
of  high  culture,  who  in  discussion  with  a  Christian, 
smilingly  retorted:  "All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  wish 
for  you  that  the  history  of  your  nation  may  one  day 
be  written  with  equal  honesty,  and  that  you  may 
then  be  able  to  have  it  read  out  aloud  for  general 
edification  in  your  churches,  as  we  do  ours!" 

How  comes  it  that  by  no  other  people  has  the 
attempt  been  made?  Is  it  that  we  instinctively  feel 
that  in  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  the  history  of  man- 
kind has  been  told  once  and  for  all, — that  for  this, 
as  for  all  other  needs,  the  Bible  may  suffice?  Other- 
wise, might  not  Christ  Himself  have  wended  His 
way  to  Persia,  India  or  China,  to  bring  to  one  or 
other  of  those  nations  the  Gospel  of  peace  and  good- 
will, framed  in  accordance  with  their  own  sacred 
books'?  The  fact  is  certainly  not  without  signifi- 
cance. For,  maintain  as  we  may  that  the  men  of 
greatest  genius  belong  to  no  special  age  or  country, 
that  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Sophocles,  Michelangelo 
and  Goethe  are  the  common  property  of  mankind,  it 
is  all  the  same  of  no  trivial  import,  that  just  this 
nation,  and  no  other,  should  have  been  selected  in 

79 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

each  case  for  the  honour  of  bringing  them  forth. 
And  where  else,  save  among  a  people  cast  down  from 
its  former  high  estate,  conquered,  humiliated  and 
oppressed,  could  the  apotheosis  of  Suffering  be  so 
fitly  preached,  the  message  of  Hope  be  brought  to 
the  poor  and  humble,  and  the  erring  be  led  back 
to  the  fold  ?  Alas !  that  in  a  proud  and  vain-glorious 
spirit,  expecting  the  promised  Messiah  in  all  the 
pomp  of  earthly  power,  they  should  have  rejected 
the  New  Covenant  of  Mercy  by  which  the  uncompro- 
mising severity  of  the  Mosaic  dispensation  was  to  be 
attenuated  and  made  perfect! 

I  have  wandered  away  somewhat  from  my  theme. 
Perhaps  however  more  in  semblance  than  in  reality, 
for  as  I  pursue  my  own  personal  reflections,  insensi- 
bly much  is  incorporated  with  them,  which  in  the  old 
days  in  the  Vinea  Domini  was  constantly  being  dis- 
cussed, and  may  be  said  to  have  vaguely  permeated 
the  whole  atmosphere.  Judaism,  as  we  then  learned 
to  know  it,  was  presented  less  under  an  aspect  of 
formality  and  exclusiveness,  than  as  a  leaven  of 
righteousness,  whereby  the  whole  world  should  be 
regenerated.  And  possibly,  could  the  other  nations 
of  the  world  have  been  brought  to  accept  the  Mosaic 
Code,  much  misery  might  have  been  spared  them. 
For  the  great  Lawgiver  was  wise  in  advance  of  his 
age,  and  many  of  the  preventive  measures,  for  in- 
stance, with  which  we  now  seek  to  ward  off  sickness 
from  our  flocks  and  herds,  were  foreseen  and  pre- 
scribed by  Moses,  long  before  Bacteriological  In- 
stitutes were  dreamt  of!  What  profound  knowl- 
edge too  of  human  nature,  what  psychological  in- 

80 


BERNAYS 

tuitions  were  his,  who  dared  to  let  four  generations 
of  his  weakened  and  demoralised  followers  perish, 
and  merely  serve  as  stepping-stones  to  the  one  des- 
tined to  enter  the  Land  of  Promise  and  to  settle 
down  there  in  peace  and  plenty.  What  indomitable 
strength  of  purpose,  what  iron  resolution  must  the 
man  have  possessed,  who  could  wait  thus  calmly 
for  results !  Well  might  he  feel  that  he  had  power 
to  bid  water  flow  from  the  barren  rock,  nay  more, 
that  in  his  righteous  indignation  he  was  justified 
in  breaking  the  Tables  of  the  Law,  which  he  had 
just  received,  since  it  lay  with  him  to  inscribe  them 
again.  The  light  that  flashed  from  his  eyes  was  of 
more  than  mortal  brilliancy,  it  was  the  sacred  fire 
of  enthusiasm,  the  glory  that  might  illumine  his  face 
alone,  who  knew  himself  to  be  in  direct  communica- 
tion with  the  Deity.  And  well  and  wisely  has  that 
kindred  soul,  Italy's  greatest  sculptor,  portrayed 
him  thus,  with  the  aureole  of  genius  and  titanic 
strength  encircling  his  brow.  Across  the  centuries 
these  two,  mystically  allied  by  their  superhuman 
energies  and  achievements,  have  met  and  under- 
stood one  another,  and  the  real  Moses  stands  forever 
revealed  to  us  in  the  form  and  features  lent  him 
here.  It  is  strength  in  its  highest  manifestation 
which  Michelangelo  has  symbolised,  and  we  feel  our- 
selves in  presence  of  something  that  transcends  our 
puny  human  faculties, — that  springs  from  Faith, 
unswerving  and  unshaken. 

Whence  comes  it  that  such  faith  is  no  longer 
ours?    The  fault  is  our  own.     God  has  never  yet 
forsaken  the  least  of  us.    And  surely  if  there  be  a 
6  81 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Creator  of  this  marvellous  universe,  it  behooves 
Him  to  watch  over  and  uphold  His  creation.  That 
much  is  sure.  Every  day  brings  with  it  a  further 
proof  of  the  insufficiency  of  so-called  scientific  ex- 
planations of  the  mystery  of  Being,  every  hour  some 
highly  praised  and  loudly  welcomed  discovery  sinks 
into  oblivion, — how  many  new  theories  of  the  uni- 
verse, how  many  philosophic  systems  have  I  seen 
come  and  go,  how  many  new  prophets  and  teachers 
arise  and  pass  away,  in  the  course  of  the  half-cen- 
tury I  can  look  back  upon!  And  if  these  apodictic 
truths  are  become  naught,  these  theories  discarded, 
these  preachers  turned  into  ridicule,  well  may  I  feel 
more  and  more  disposed  to  cling  to  the  simple  child- 
like faith  of  my  early  years,  and  hold  fast  to  this 
one  sure  anchor  in  a  shifting  world!  Let  the 
prophets  of  old  serve  as  our  example  and  guide. 
They  were  neither  ignorant  nor  inexperienced,  and 
their  path  was  often  beset  by  the  Powers  of  Dark- 
ness, but  their  simple  unquestioning  faith  brought 
them  triumphantly  through  the  greatest  perils.  Can 
we  do  better  than  imitate  them?  They  are  our 
spiritual  fore-fathers,  for  our  religion  sprang  forth 
out  of  Judaism, — we  would  deny  it  in  vain. 

Would  that  we  resembled  them  more!  Had  we 
tluir  faith,  we  should  also  have  the  same  freedom 
from  superstition  that  goes  hand  in  hand  with  it, 
arid  which  these  heroes  of  the  Old  Testament  have 
bequeathed  to  their  natural  heirs,  to  the  representa- 
tives of  the  Jewish  people  among  us  now.  It  may  be 
that  it  is  a  mere  question  of  race,  of  constitutional 
temperament,  but  the  fact  none  the  less  remains, 

82 


BERNAYS 

that  the  Jew  possesses  a  positive  aversion  to  every 
form  of  superstition — that  outcome  of  weakness  and 
helplessness,  the  last  refuge  of  despairing  souls.  It 
is  not  in  his  nature  to  give  way  to  despair ;  from  that 
the  dictates  of  his  strong  common-sense  would  in 
a  measure  guard  him,  but  his  absolute  security 
comes  from  his  trust  in  the  God  of  Israel.  The  love 
of  riches,  and  of  the  ease  and  luxury  that  riches 
bring,  this,  it  cannot  be  too  often  said,  the  besetting 
sin  of  our  age,  is  the  one  peril  that  menaces  the 
Jewish  race.  Not  only  for  their  own  sake,  but  for 
the  services  rendered  to  humanity,  must  we  not  pray 
that  the  curse  be  averted,  and  that  they  who  proudly 
term  themselves  God's  chosen  people  may  avoid  the 
gilded  snare,  and  return  to  the  simplicity  and  mod- 
eration of  patriarchal  times? 

Someone — I  have  forgotten  who  it  was — once 
called  this  earth  Vile  du  Diable,  and  there  are  mo- 
ments when  it  might  seem  almost  to  merit  the  name. 
And  yet,  quite  so  bad  it  surely  need  not  be,  if  only 
each  and  all  of  us  strive,  in  all  single-mindedness 
and  honesty  of  purpose,  to  make  it  something  better 
— not  by  indulging  in  foolish  vanities  and  useless 
luxuries — but,  by  the  exercise  of  forbearance,  gen- 
tleness and  Christian  charity,  by  the  effort  to  bring 
light  into  dark  places,  and  to  brighten  with  some  ray 
of  joy  the  saddest  lot.  Were  we  but  to  act  thus, 
Earth  need  be  no  Hell — it  lies  in  our  power  to  make 
it  into  a  Paradise  for  ourselves  and  others.  The 
Temple  of  Jerusalem  will  not  be  raised  from  its 
ruins  in  our  days ;  there  is  no  Zion  on  earth  for  the 
Children  of  Israel,  for  the  Holy  Places  once  laid 

83 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

waste  may  not  be  restored  by  human  hands  until 
long  years  of  expiation  have  gone  by.  That  truth, 
Judah's  best  and  noblest  spirits  are  the  first  to 
acknowledge.  Something  of  the  ideas  of  one  of 
them  I  have  tried  to  recall  in  these  pages,  which  I 
dedicate  to  his  memory.  They  can  give  but  a  vague 
image  of  the  picture  in  my  mind,  and  the  unavailing 
regret  comes  over  me  once  more,  that  of  the  wisdom 
and  learning  once  so  near  me,  I  have  been  able 
to  preserve  but  so  dim  a  recollection.  I  could  envy 
the  pupils  of  Bernays,  the  students  who  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  listening  to  his  exposition  of  the  Greek 
Testament,  on  which  all  the  wealth  of  research,  the 
critical  insight  of  a  true  scholar  were  brought  to 
bear.  Deeper  and  further  than  most  of  us  he  surely 
saw! 


CHAPTER  V 

TWO  OLD  RETAINERS 

Faithful  servants  are  no  less  important  in  a 
household  than  the  members  of  the  family  itself. 
Are  we  not  every  moment  beholden  to  them  for  our 
ease  and  comfort,  so  much  in  the  routine  of  our 
daily  lives  depending  on  them,  that  we  can  never  be 
grateful  enough  for  the  pains  they  are  at  to  make  its 
machinery  run  well  and  smoothly.  In  our  family  this 
was  certainly  the  case,  very  many  of  the  old  servants 
I  remember  in  my  childhood  being  regarded  by  us 
as  true  and  valued  friends.  Talking  of  this  one  day 
to  one  of  my  cousins,  he  exclaimed,  "Ah,  indeed! 
what  would  ever  have  become  of  us  poor  children, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  dear  good  old  servants ! ' ' 

It  was  still  the  fashion  in  those  days,  to  bring 
children  up  with  great  severity,  and  for  poor  little 
princes  and  princesses  in  particular  a  Spartan  sys- 
tem of  education  was  enforced.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances it  was  very  often  thanks  to  the  servants 
that  we  escaped  the  Draconian  penalties  attached 
to  every  trifling  misdeed ;  they  were  always  ready  to 
come  to  our  aid  in  all  our  troubles,  and  by  their 
adroitness  and  good-nature  helped  us  out  of  many  of 
our  worst  scrapes.  There  were  two,  in  particular, 
who  were  our  personal  attendants,  and  can  never  be 
dissociated  from  our  family  history,  accompanying 
us  on  all  our  travels,  and  literally  sharing  in  all  our 
joys  and  sorrows.    The  one  was  my  father's  valet, 

85 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Masset,  a  dear  old  fellow,  with  a  round  smiling  face 
like  a  full  moon,  as  good-natured  as  a  big  playful 
dog,  always  ready  with  some  amusing  story  or 
harmless  piece  of  fun,  if  he  saw  that  one's  spirits 
were  low  and  that  one  wanted  cheering.  Lang,  on 
the  contrary,  was  a  most  dignified  personage,  tall, 
and  speaking  French  beautifully,  and  with  well-cut 
features  and  a  certain  stiffness  of  manner,  which  we 
felt  to  be  rather  imposing.  But  he  was  no  less  de- 
voted to  us,  and  I  can  recall  many  an  instance  of  his 
zeal  in  rendering  us  service.  To  give  one  little  ex- 
ample, one  day,  when  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  my 
brother's  kite,  which  he  was  flying,  got  caught  in  a 
tree ;  it  was  Lang  who  in  a  moment  had  climbed  the 
tree,  and  set  free  the  kite,  almost  before  the  little 
boy  had  time  to  distress  himself  about  it.  Lang  told 
me  about  it  afterwards,  and  of  the  bad  fall  he  had 
in  coming  down  from  the  tree,  being  really  so  badly 
shaken  that  he  could  not  get  up  for  a  few  minutes, 
though  luckily  no  bones  were  broken.  "And  what 
did  Wilhelm  do?"  I  asked.  "Oh!  he  ran  off  with 
his  kite  as  fast  as  he  could!"  was  the  smiling  reply. 
I  very  much  fear  that  we  were  often  extremely 
thoughtless  in  the  way  in  which  we  took  for  granted 
that  we  should  always  find  our  wishes  carried  out 
by  either  of  these  two  trusty  allies,  and  that  we  did 
not  always  trouble  ourselves  to  thank  them  after- 
wards. "We  have  often  laughed  since  to  think  of 
the  artful  devices  of  good  old  Masset,  on  one  occa- 
sion, when  my  brother  was  shut  up  in  his  room  for 
three  weeks  on  a  diet  of  dry  bread  and  water,  taking 
care  to  cut  such  very  thick  slices  of  bread,  that 

86 


TWO  OLD  RETAINERS 

inside  each  both  butter  and  meat  could  be  concealed ; 
and  this  he  carried  with  the  most  innocent  face  in 
the  world  to  the  poor  hungry  little  prisoner,  whose 
sole  diversion,  meanwhile,  consisted  in  dragging  his 
table  up  to  the  attic  window,  so  that  by  placing  a 
chair  on  it  he  could  succeed  in  climbing  out  on  the 
roof,  to  shoot  at  the  sparrows  with  his  little  cross- 
bow! 

In  our  house  the  servants  always  said  "we,"  in 
speaking  of  the  family;  they  quite  felt  that  they 
belonged  to  it,  and  they  were  indeed  fully  justified 
in  feeling  thus  by  their  devotion  to  us  all.  We  might 
well  be  fond  of  them,  though  we  certainly  did  not  go 
quite  so  far  as  my  mother,  who,  as  a  very  small 
child  was  so  much  attached  to  the  funny  little  wiz- 
ened old  man-servant  who  was  her  special  attendant, 
that  she  was  heard  to  say:  "Ce  cher  Rupp!  ce  cher 
Rupp!  je  voudrais  tant  l'embrasser!  je  l'aime  beau- 
coup  plus  que  Papa!"  But  we  liked  ours  quite  as 
well  as  all  but  our  very  nearest  relations,  perhaps 
rather  better  than  some!  Masset,  as  his  name 
shows,  was  of  French  extraction,  descended  from 
Huguenot  refugees.  Another  servant  had  one  of 
those  names  with  a  Latin  termination  not  infre- 
quently to  be  found  in  the  Rhineland ;  he  was  called 
Corcilius.  Our  great-uncle,  the  traveller,  whose  de- 
light it  was  to  give  nicknames  to  every  one,  amused 
himself  with  twisting  and  turning  the  servants' 
names.  Thus  Lang  (Long)  became  Kurz  (Short), 
Schafer  (Shepherd)  was  transformed  into  Haas 
(Hare),  and  Corcilius  was  nicknamed  "Garcilaso  de 
la  Vega."    Many  of  these  good  people  had  been  in 

87 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

our  service  from  father  to  son  for  several  genera- 
tions. One  of  our  game-keepers  belonged  to  a  fam- 
ily who  had  been  keepers  with  us  for  a  couple  of 
centuries.  Many  of  our  people  lived  to  celebrate 
the  jubilee  of  their  fiftieth  year  in  our  service.  Alas, 
not  all ! 

But  these  two,  as  I  said,  Lang  and  Masset,  were 
our  special  friends,  we  always  felt  so  safe  and  sure 
with  them,  as  if  no  danger  could  harm  us.  I  should 
never  stop,  if  I  began  relating  everything,  the  fath- 
erly way  in  which  they  took  care  of  us,  how  often 
they  carried  us  in  their  arms,  all  they  did  to  please 
us,  when  we  were  quite  small.  For  I  was  only  two 
years  old,  when,  the  Rhine  being  frozen  over  for 
the  first  time  for  many  years,  they  carried  us  across, 
my  little  brother  and  myself,  in  order  that  we  might 
have  a  recollection  of  the  unusual  occurrence.  And 
I  do  remember  it  quite  distinctly,  and  many  another 
little  incident  of  like  nature.  I  cannot  think  of 
these  without  emotion,  but  there  was  very  much  also 
that  had  its  purely  comic  side.  Whilst  we  were 
staying  in  Baden,  later  on,  installed  in  the  simplest, 
most  modest  fashion,  with  very  few  servants,  some 
one  happened  one  day  to  ring  at  the  front  door,  just 
at  the  moment  when  Masset  was  summoned  to  my 
father.  "Let  me  go,"  I  said;  "I  will  open  the 
door ! ' '  But  very  firmly  though  gently,  I  was  pushed 
on  one  side.  "No,  dear  child, — that  cannot  be,  that 
would  never  do!"  I  was  eighteen  at  the  time,  but 
for  both  Lang  and  Masset  I  always  remained  a  child. 

Ono  amusing  little  scene,  though  it  has  not  to  do 
with  them,  but  with  another  old  servant,  I  cannot 

88 


TWO  OLD   RETAINERS 

help  relating  here.  In  my  mother's  bedroom  hung  a 
lamp  with  a  pink  shade,  giving  a  very  agreeable 
light  whenever  it  chose  to  burn,  but  more  often  than 
not  a  source  of  infinite  trouble  and  annoyance.  Now- 
a-days  with  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  electric- 
ity or  even  of  ordinary  petroleum  lamps,  people 
can  little  imagine  the  nuisance  of  the  old-fashioned 
oil-lamps.  Two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  an 
evening  they  had  to  be  wound  up  with  a  sort  of  big 
key — and  even  then  they  would  not  burn!  All  the 
same  everyone  was  agreed  as  to  their  being  a  most 
admirable  invention!  One  evening  when  my  poor 
little  invalid  brother  was  being  put  to  bed,  as  he 
happened  for  once  to  be  free  from  pain,  my  mother 
came  away  and  joined  us  others  at  the  tea-table. 
For  she  felt  safe  in  leaving  Otto  to  the  care  of  his 
devoted  attendant,  a  very  old  man,  quite  a  relic  of 
the  past,  as  he  had  been  in  my  grandmother's  ser- 
vice and  had  been  handed  on  to  us.  Suddenly  the 
door  opened,  and  a  wrinkled  old  face,  crowned  with 
snow-white  hair,  peeped  in. — "Your  Highness,  the 
lamp  is  going  out!"  My  mother  jumped  up.  To 
rush  into  the  other  room,  pull  down  the  lamp,  and 
carry  it  outside  before  its  feeble  light  was  entirely 
extinguished  and  had  poisoned  the  atmosphere  with 
its  fumes — all  this  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  But 
how  we  all  laughed!  till  the  tears  ran  down  our 
cheeks.  And  we  were  laughing  still  when  my  mother 
came  back  to  the  tea-table,  quite  astonished  at  our 
merriment,  and  asking  its  cause.  To  her  it  had 
seemed  just  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that 

89 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

the  old  servant  should  appeal  to  her,  and  that  she 
should  run  to  his  assistance. 

I  should  like  to  mention  each  and  every  one  of 
those  whose  faithful  service  was  so  invaluable  to  our 
family  during  the  years  in  which  we  were  tried  by 
sickness  and  suffering;  many  were  admirable  in 
their  untiring  devotion,  but  the  two  I  have  spoken 
of  above  and  beyond  all  the  rest.  No  words  could 
do  justice  to  the  tact,  the  discretion,  the  unwearied 
patience,  with  which  their  duties  were  fulfilled. 
Never  did  they  utter  a  word  of  complaint,  on  any 
of  those  long  and  fatiguing  journeys,  all  the  respon- 
sibility of  whose  arrangements  fell  on  them,  and 
which  had  to  be  performed  under  circumstances  of 
exceptional  difficulty,  with  my  mother  in  her  crippled 
condition,  having  to  be  carried  in  and  out  of  train 
and  boat,  and  my  father  and  brother  also  helpless 
invalids.  To  say  nothing  of  the  amount  of  luggage 
that  was  required  for  the  whole  party,  nurse  and 
lady's  maid,  tutor,  governess,  and  lady-in-waiting! 
And  travelling  was  by  no  means  so  simple  and  easy 
a  matter  in  those  days.  But  Lang  and  Masset  were 
equal  to  the  circumstances,  and  managed  it  all  with- 
out a  hitch.  For  our  journey  from  Bonn  to  Paris 
a  whole  railway-carriage  had  to  be  reserved,  so  that 
my  mother,  whose  convulsive  fits  at  that  time  fol- 
lowed one  another  in  swift  succession,  barely  giving 
her  time  between  to  recover  consciousness,  might 
rest  undisturbed  in  the  hammock  put  up  for  her. 
As  for  the  preceding  journey,  that  from  Neuwied  to 
Bonn,  however  difficult  it  may  have  been  to  plan,  it 
was  so  successfully  carried  out,  that  to  us  children 

90 


TWO  OLD  RETAINERS 

it  was  all  unalloyed  enjoyment,  like  a  page  out  of  a 
fairy  tale !  As  my  mother  could  not  stand  the  shak- 
ing of  the  steamer,  one  of  the  Ehenish  coal-barges 
had  been  chartered,  thoroughly  cleaned  and  fitted 
out  with  mats  and  awnings,  and  the  deck  strewn  with 
fresh  flowers  everywhere,  and  in  order  that  the  little 
journey  should  not  take  too  long,  the  barge  was 
taken  in  tow  by  one  of  the  Rhine-steamers.  It  was  all 
too  delightful,  so  Wilhelm  and  I  thought,  this  novel 
style  of  travelling,  and  everything  so  amusing — the 
little  cabin  with  its  sky-light,  and  above  all  the  lovely 
little  dancing  waves  in  the  wake  of  the  steamer. 
We  were  quite  lost  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  and 
had  but  a  faint  understanding  of  the  cares  weighing 
on  the  elders  of  our  party,  though  those  were 
brought  before  us  again,  when  we  reached  the  land- 
ing-stage, and  saw  our  mother  carried  unconscious 
ashore  by  Lang  and  Masset.  As  in  spite  of  all  their 
care  and  the  excellent  arrangements  made,  she  had 
lain  in  convulsions  the  whole  time,  they  might  well 
feel  somewhat  discouraged  at  this  first  step  in  the 
pilgrimage  undertaken  in  quest  of  health  and  solace 
for  our  invalids.  But  such  grave  thoughts  cannot 
altogether  quell  the  natural  high  spirits  of  youth, 
and  I  remember  the  peals  of  laughter  that  greeted 
us  from  my  Uncle  Nicholas,  my  mother's  youngest 
brother,  who  was  awaiting  our  arrival  in  the  garden 
of  the  villa  at  Bonn,  and  who  declared  that  he  had 
known  we  were  coming  long  before  the  boats  were 
in  sight,  our  approach  having  been  heralded  by  the 
smell  of  ether  and  chloroform  which  surrounded  us 
like  an  atmosphere  as  we  glided  along !    That  strong 

91 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

smell  of  ether  and  all  the  other  medicaments  used — 
and  used  in  vain — to  still  those  fearful  paroxysms  of 
pain,  this  remains  for  me  so  indissolubly  associated 
with  certain  scenes  and  memories  of  my  childhood, 
that  as  my  pen  traces  these  words,  the  air  I  breathe 
is  pervaded  with  them  once  more ! 

I  suppose  it  was  the  spectacle  of  suffering  con- 
stantly before  my  eyes,  and  of  the  utter  inefficacy 
of  the  remedies  prescribed,  that  gave  me,  already  as 
a  child,  the  conviction  of  the  absolute  helplessness 
of  doctors  in  certain  cases.  Of  course  I  know  the 
immense  strides  medical  science  has  made  since 
those  days,  but  after  all  I  wonder  if  to  us  it  would 
have  brought  much  help !  That  which  did,  however, 
most  undeniably  contribute  to  our  comfort,  and 
often  helped  to  procure  the  sufferers  some  moments ' 
ease  and  rest,  that  was  the  quiet  unobtrusive  service 
of  these  two  faithful  souls.  It  was  only  natural  that 
Masset's  devotion  to  my  father  should  outweigh 
all  else;  it  literally  knew  no  bounds,  and  a  very 
few  months  after  his  master's  death,  his  old  servant 
was  missing  too.  He  had  thrown  himself  into  the 
Rhine,  seeking  a  grave  there  between  the  blocks  of 
ice  with  which  the  river  was  covered.  His  body 
was  never  found.  It  was  only  by  the  print  of  his 
footsteps  in  the  snow  (recognisable  by  the  turning 
in  of  the  toes),  that  some  of  the  keepers  traced  him 
down  to  the  riverside,  and  that  we  learned  his  fate. 
He  simply  could  not  live  without  the  beloved  master, 
to  whom  he  belonged,  body  and  soul.  But  the  shock 
was  a  terrible  one  to  us  all ;  we  mourned  him  most 
sincerely.       Lang    remained    for    years    after    my 

92 


TWO  OLD  RETAINERS 

father's  death  in  my  mother's  service,  and  was  with 
her  when  she  came  to  see  me  in  Roumania.  To  the 
end  he  was  the  same  invaluable,  trustworthy  ser- 
vant, with  such  sound  judgment  that  my  mother 
often  asked  his  advice,  always  receiving  excellent 
counsel  from  the  clear-headed,  much  experienced 
old  man. 

I  must  not  forget  our  old  coachman,  Lindner,  who 
at  my  father's  funeral  drove  the  hearse,  that  none 
but  himself  might  have  the  honour  of  performing 
that  last  service  for  his  master.  It  was  a  touching 
sight,  so  uncontrollable  was  the  grief  of  the  fine  old 
man,  who,  till  then,  had  often  been  the  life  and 
soul  of  every  rustic  gathering.  He  it  was  who  was 
generally  the  principal  solo  singer  at  every  village 
festival.  Unless,  indeed,  it  so  happened  that  I  was 
there  to  take  my  part !  There  was  always  a  sort  of 
rivalry  between  us,  as  to  which  had  the  larger  store 
of  songs,  Lindner  or  I!  And  at  last,  I  believe,  I 
bore  away  the  palm ;  I  knew  even  more  than  he  did ! 

I  am  proud  to  think  how  sad  all  these  good  people 
were  when  I  left  my  old  home  on  my  marriage.  The 
day  when  I  had  to  take  my  leave  of  the  Ladies' 
Nursing  Union,  I  said  to  Lang  as  I  stepped  into  the 
carriage: — "Lang,  je  dois  tenir  un  discours  au- 
jourd'hui."  And  struggling  with  his  emotion,  he 
replied:  "II  doit  etre  d'autant  plus  beau,  qu'il  ne 
sera  jamais  oublie ! ' ' 

I  was  missed  by  all  the  good  country-folk.  They 
had  always  called  me  "our  little  princess!"  And 
much  nicer,  prettier  names  still!  The  first  time  I 
came  back  on  a  visit  after  my  marriage,  through  the 

03 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

streets  of  Neuwied  and  in  the  villages  round  about, 
they  ran  shouting : — ' i  Our  Lisbeth  is  coming !  Our 
Lisbeth  is  here  again!" 

With  every  workman  and  mechanic  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood we  had  a  personal  acquaintance,  it  was  as 
if  quite  peculiar  ties  of  very  long  standing  united 
them  to  us,  for  had  not  their  fathers  and  grand- 
fathers worked  for  ours,  for  centuries  past?  So 
that  we  felt  interested  in  all  that  concerned  them, 
and  ourselves  took  great  pride  in  the  fact,  that  the 
town  of  Neuwied  had  given  birth  to  the  celebrated 
wood-carver,  Roentgen,  specimens  of  whose  beautiful 
artistic  wood-mosaics  found  their  way  to  all  the 
capitals  of  Europe,  and  decorate  castles  and  manor- 
houses  in  every  land. 

But  it  was  the  book-binder,  Lesser,  a  Moravian, 
who  was  our  special  favourite,  and  every  week  we 
spent  several  hours  learning  his  craft  of  him,  till  we 
were  ourselves  able  to  do  some  very  pretty  work. 
I  have  still  books  in  my  possession,  which  I  bound 
myself,  fifty  years  ago,  and  which  are  in  perfectly 
good  condition  now.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
all  children  were  taught  something  of  the  sort,  to 
amuse  them  in  their  play-hours,  instead  of  letting 
them  run  wild.  There  would  be  no  constraint 
needed;  it  would  be  merely  giving  a  sensible  and 
useful  outlet  for  those  energies  with  which  all  chil- 
dren are  naturally  brimming  over,  and  which,  mis- 
directed, too  often  lead  them  into  mischief.  We 
were  always  encouraged  to  look  on  at  all  events, 
whenever  there  were  workmen  in  the  house  or 
grounds,  and  we  watched  them  with  the  greatest  in- 

94 


A  Queen  at  Her  Loom 


TWO  OLD  RETAINERS 

terest,  perhaps  observing  and  learning  more  than 
was  thought.  And  we  often  talked  to  them  too,  so 
that  there  was  really  nothing  so  very  much  to  won- 
der at  in  those  "Songs  of  the  Crafts,"  which  I  was 
one  day  to  write,  nor  in  the  intimate  knowledge  of 
each  special  kind  of  work  which  they  revealed.  Quite 
young  we  thus  learned  to  use  our  hands,  and  they 
were  never  idle.  I  could  give  first-rate  sewing  les- 
sons ;  here  in  Koumania  even  I  have  taught  many  a 
young  girl  to  embroider.  But  it  was  the  smith 
above  all  whom  we  were  never  tired  of  watching 
at  his  work.  Everything  pertaining  to  the  forge 
has  a  special  fascination  for  children — the  bellows, 
and  the  tongs,  and  the  sparks  that  fly,  and  the  black- 
ened faces — it  is  all  too  delightful!  One  should 
allow  children  to  familiarise  themselves  with  all 
these  things,  with  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  human 
toil  in  its  every  aspect,  that  they  may  learn  to  have 
the  right  feeling  of  respect  both  for  the  work  itself, 
and  for  the  workers. 

Nor  can  one  too  early  impress  on  the  minds  of 
children  the  debt  of  gratitude  they  owe  to  all  those 
whose  lives  are  passed  in  their  service.  The  young 
can  certainly  not  be  expected  to  realise  all  the  unsel- 
fishness— the  utter  forgetfulness  and  disregard  of 
self,  I  should  rather  say, — which  are  implied  in  the 
term  of  "good  and  faithful  servant."  But  they  can 
be  taught  to  show  thoughtfulness  and  consideration 
towards  all  with  whom  they  are  brought  into  daily 
contact  in  these  relations. 

Servants  of  the  type  of  those  whom  I  have  tried 
to  describe  here,  are  perhaps  becoming  more  and 

95 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

more  rare.  In  any  case,  where  we  do  come  across 
them,  we  must  look  upon  them  as  a  gift  from  heaven, 
and  it  is  in  heaven,  too,  that  they  will  have  their 
reward.  For  no  earthly  master,  however  thor- 
oughly he  may  recognise  their  merit,  can  ever  hope 
to  requite  or  repay  such  services  as  theirs.  My  little 
tribute  of  words  is  poor  indeed  to  express  the  magni- 
tude of  such  a  debt.  May  they  have  found  their 
reward  in  a  better  world,  united  to  the  master  they 
served  so  faithfully  on  earth! 


CHAPTER  VI 

FANNY  LAVATER 

This  angel  in  human  form  was  a  grand-niece  of 
the  celebrated  Swiss  philosopher  and  physiogno- 
mist, Johann  Caspar  Levater.  She  was  one  of  a 
family  of  ten  children,  the  father  a  member  of  the 
little  French-speaking  Protestant  community  at 
Hanau,  and  the  mother  an  Englishwoman. 

When  Friiulein  Lavater  came  as  governess  to  my 
mother  the  latter  was  just  six  years  old,  and  she 
herself  a  mere  girl  of  eighteen,  with  big  brown  eyes 
and  black  hair.  She  was,  however,  already  remark- 
ably well-read  in  the  literature  of  several  languages, 
and  this  she  always  declared  she  owed  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  circumstance  that  the  nonsense  called 
children's  books  did  not  exist  in  her  childhood,  she 
and  her  brothers  and  sisters  being  consequently 
obliged  to  have  recourse  for  such  amusement  as  they 
sought  in  reading,  to  the  little  collection  of  the  best 
poets  and  prose-writers,  of  whose  works  their 
mother's  library  was  composed.  It  was  thus  that 
she  had  read  nearly  all  Shakespeare's  plays  when 
she  was  eight  years  old.  In  order  to  indulge  their 
taste  for  reading,  without  always  having  to  be 
guided  by  the  choice  of  their  elders,  these  young 
people  had,  she  told  us,  discovered  a  most  ingenious 
method  of  quietly  pushing  open  a  panel  of  the  book- 
case, making  an  aperture  just  wide  enough  to  intro- 
duce the  smallest  arm  among  them,  with  which  sev- 
7  97 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

eral  coveted  volumes  would  be  fetched  down  from 
the  shelves,  and  carried  off  to  some  safe  hiding- 
place,  to  be  brought  out  and  devoured  at  leisure 
afterwards. 

It  was  not  considered  necessary  in  those  days 
to  pass  a  public  examination  in  order  to  give  a  proof 
of  one's  knowledge  and  abilities,  and  in  the  person 
of  our  ' '  Fraulchen, ' '  as  she  was  affectionately  called, 
we  had  a  striking  example  of  the  high  degree  of 
intellectual  culture  that  may  be  attained  by  careful 
and  intelligent  home  training  and  a  liberal  course 
of  general  reading.  It  was  in  the  latter  respect, 
above  all,  that  the  superiority  of  independent  study 
over  the  modern  cramming  system,  was  in  this  in- 
stance so  abundantly  proved.  A  very  few  minutes' 
conversation  sufficed  to  show  how  much  more  solid 
information  was  possessed  by  the  quiet  little  book- 
worm than  by  many  a  paragon  of  the  latest  methods 
of  instruction,  however  much  the  latter  might  be 
advertised  by  the  diploma  conferred  on  her  by  the 
State.  It  would  almost  seem  indeed  as  if  no  time 
were  left  for  original  thought  or  true  mental  culture 
in  the  schemes  of  our  newest  educational  oracles, 
which  apparently  aim  at  reducing  all  mankind  to  one 
dull  level  of  mediocrity,  forcing  all  into  the  self- 
same groove,  and  trying  to  make  one  pattern  serve 
for  all  of  us,  utterly  regardless  both  of  our  aptitudes 
and  our  requirements.  I  fancy  that  before  long 
there  must  come  a  reaction  from  this  unlucky  craze, 
and  that  women  at  any  rate  will  once  more  content 
themselves  with  cultivating  their  mental  powers  to 
the  utmost,  feeling  therein  a  higher  satisfaction 

98 


FANNY  LAVATER 

than  is  to  be  derived  from  the  noisier  successes  of  a 
public  examination. 

The  home  in  which  Fraulein  Lavater  had  grown 
up,  in  happy  companionship  of  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  under  the  guidance  of  their  excellent  mother, 
was  a  comfortable  old-fashioned  house  in  Hanau, 
surrounded  by  a  pretty  garden  of  considerable  size. 
A  genial  and  healthy  spirit  animated  the  whole 
household;  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  town  prided 
themselves  on  the  literary  and  artistic  interests 
which  they  considered  had  been  wafted  over  to  them 
from  Frankfort,  the  Frankfort  of  Goethe's  days; 
they  read  much,  and  were  fond  of  meeting  together 
for  philosophic  discussion  as  well  as  for  amateur 
acting.  Those  were  still  the  good  old  honest  simple 
times  in  which  living  was  so  cheap  that  an  excellent 
mid-day  meal,  a  slice  of  a  roast  joint  with  vegetables, 
bread  and  ale,  could  be  had  for  three  kreuzers,  and 
in  which  young  girls  made  their  own  simple  white 
muslin  ball-dresses,  and  embroidered  them  in  col- 
oured wools,  wearing  the  same  dress  contentedly  for 
a  dozen  dances;  and  assuredly  they  looked  just  as 
pretty  and  attractive  in  their  modest  attire  as  do 
the  young  women  of  the  present  day  in  the  extrava- 
gant toilettes  on  which  such  preposterous  sums  are 
spent,  often  bringing  ruin  on  a  whole  family.  That 
so-called  period  of  stagnation  at  which  it  is  so  easy 
to  sneer,  was  in  reality  but  the  necessary  reaction 
after  the  too  great  tension,  the  strain  and  stress 
of  the  War  of  Liberation,  a  rest  after  the  storm,  in 
which  the  nation  might  recuperate  its  energies,  ex- 
hausted by  the  long  conflict.    No  one  talked  then  of 

99 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

national  antipathies  or  hereditary  enmities ;  and  re- 
ligious strife  was  also  unknown.  It  was,  at  all 
events,  a  peaceful  happy  existence  which  people  led 
in  Hanau,  as  in  many  another  of  the  smaller  Ger- 
man towns,  in  which  little  colonies  of  French  Prot- 
estants, driven  out  of  their  own  country  by  the 
Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  had  settled  down. 
There  was  something  so  distinctive  about  these 
worthy  people,  something  that  seemed  to  differen- 
tiate them  from  their  compatriots  of  the  Catholic 
Faith,  and  that  has  sometimes  set  me  wondering  as 
to  what  other  possible  turn  affairs  might  have  taken 
for  France  and  for  Europe  in  consequence,  had 
Henry  IV  instead  of  hearing  his  first  Mass  thrown 
the  whole  weight  of  his  influence  into  the  other  side 
of  the  scale,  and  brought  his  countrymen  over  to  his 
religion!  However  that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that 
the  presence  of  these  foreigners  gave  Hanau  some- 
thing cosmopolitan,  that  the  tone  of  thought  and 
feeling  which  prevailed  there  was  exceptionally  lib- 
eral and  enlightened.  Anglophobia  had  not  yet  been 
invented  in  Germany,  on  the  contrary,  one  admired 
and  imitated  everything  English,  looking  up  to  the 
English  nation  as  the  most  highly  civilised  of  all. 

Before  Fanny  Lavater's  first  day  in  Biebrich  was 
over,  her  little  pupil  was  already  sitting  on  her  knee, 
and  telling  her: — "Je  vous  aime  deja  beaucoup!" 
"Vraiment?"  said  the  young  governess,  somewhat 
surprised.  "Je  vous  aime  deja  boaucoup  plus  que 
ma  sonur  Therese!"  "Oh!"  and  this  time  there  was 
something  not  merely  incredulous,  but  almost  of 
protest  in  the  tone.     "C'est  que  je  n'aime  pas  beau- 

100 


FANNY  LAVATER 

coup  ma  soeur  Therese!"  The  elder  sister  had,  after 
the  mother's  death,  at  once  assumed  the  reins  of 
government,  and  carried  it  on  in  so  high-handed 
a  manner,  that  she  had  by  no  means  increased  the 
affection  in  which  she  was  held  by  her  younger 
brothers  and  sisters. 

The  very  next  evening  there  was  a  big  reception 
at  the  Castle,  at  which  Fraulein  Lavater,  young  and 
timid  and  unknown  to  everyone,  had  to  appear.  As 
she  shyly  entered  the  room,  nobody  made  way  for 
her,  or  took  any  notice  of  her  at  all,  and  my  grand- 
father, observing  this,  strode  through  the  room  to 
the  place  where  she  stood,  offered  her  his  arm,  and 
conducted  her  in  this  manner  through  the  whole 
assembly,  everyone  falling  back  as  they  passed 
along.  Needless  to  say,  that  her  position  in  society 
was  from  that  hour  assured,  and  that  she  never 
required  to  assert  herself  in  any  way.  And  this 
little  anecdote  shows  my  grandfather,  then  a  hand- 
some dignified  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  in  the  light 
in  which  he  must  have  always  appeared  to  the  out- 
side world ;  towards  strangers  he  was  affable,  cour- 
teous and  charming,  reserving  his  ill-temper  for  his 
own  family,  his  treatment  of  his  children  not  allow- 
ing them  to  see  in  him  aught  but  a  pitiless  tyrant. 

For  my  mother  a  happy  time  now  began,  in  which 
she  and  her  dear  governess  lived  quite  by  themselves 
in  the  rooms  set  apart  for  them  in  one  wing  of  the 
castle,  where  they  had  their  own  little  establish- 
ment— maid,  footman  and  housemaids,  all  to  them- 
selves. Only  once  or  twice  a  day  did  the  children 
have  to  appear  before  their  parents,  kiss  their  hands 

101 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  be  dismissed  again  at  once.  Pupil  and  gover- 
ness were  all  in  all  to  one  another,  and  the  former 
had  already  made  up  her  mind  that  no  circumstances 
which  she  could  control,  should  ever  separate  them. 
Fraulein  Lavater  must  come  and  live  with  her,  the 
little  girl  explained,  when  she  got  married.  "But 
if  your  husband  does  not  want  me!"  "Alors,  je 
dirai ;  mon  homme,  tu  peux  rester  dans  ta  chambre, 
et  moi  je  resterai  dans  la  mienne!"  My  mother 
kept  her  word,  insisting,  to  our  unspeakable  happi- 
ness, on  Fraulein  Lavater  remaining  with  her  for 
weeks,  sometimes  months  together,  throughout  her 
married  life,  and  afterwards,  during  her  widowhood, 
altogether. 

The  saddest  day  in  her  whole  childhood  was  that 
in  which  her  dear  governess  was  dismissed.  The 
latter  had  often  defended  her  little  pupil  when  she 
saw  her  unjustly  accused,  as  not  infrequently 
occurred,  her  otherwise  admirable  and  dearly-loved 
stepmother  having  the  weakness — it  was  the  only 
fault  that  could  be  laid  to  her  charge — sometimes  to 
try  to  shield  her  own  children  from  their  father's 
severity,  at  the  expense  of  the  others.  And  Frau- 
lein Lavater 's  zealous  efforts  to  exculpate  the  poor 
child,  on  an  occasion  when  she  knew  her  to  be  the 
victim  of  a  most  cruel  injustice,  simply  led  to  her 
own  dismissal.  It  was  for  both  of  them  a  cruel 
blow,  and  my  mother  has  often  told  me  how  she 
wandered  next  day  heartbroken  through  the  empty 
desolate  rooms,  throwing  herself  at  last  on  a  sofa 
to  cry  her  eyes  out,  with  no  one  to  care  what  had 
become  of  her. 

102 


FANNY  LAVATER 

My  mother  had  hardly  been  able  to  speak  a  word 
of  German  at  the  time  when  Friiulein  Lavater  came 
to  her.  Nassau  belonged  to  the  Confederation  of 
the  Rhine  and  had  decidedly  French  sympathies,  so 
that  everything  was  new  to  my  mother,  when  she 
came  to  Neuwied,  marrying  into  a  family  that  had 
been  mediatised  for  having  drawn  the  sword  for 
Germany.  She  was  simply  shocked  at  the  brutality 
of  one  of  my  great-uncles,  who  related  how  he  had 
ridden  about  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  Napoleon  and  making  an  end  of  him. 
"That  fellow  Bonaparte!  if  I  could  but  have  got  at 
him ! ' '  Uncle  Max  would  say,  clenching  his  fist ;  and 
my  mother  turned  away  in  horror  at  such  savage 
sentiments. 

There  had  been,  quite  unknown  to  herself,  another 
marriage  planned  for  her,  with  the  heir  to  the  throne 
of  Russia,  whose  father,  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  was 
a  great  friend  of  my  grandfather.  But  the  match, 
on  which  both  fathers  were  so  bent,  fell  through 
after  my  grandfather's  death,  the  Emperor's  ex- 
pressed desire  merely  having  the  effect  of  driving 
his  son  into  opposition  to  his  wishes.  But  my 
mother  was  ignorant  of  all  this;  all  she  knew  of 
or  cared  for  in  Russia  was  the  family  of  the  Grand- 
Duchess  Helene,  her  own  first  cousin  and  sister  to 
her  stepmother.  To  her,  the  Grand-Duchess,  and 
her  daughters,  she  was  deeply  attached. 

I  cannot  insist  enough  on  the  benefit  resulting  for 
us  all  from  the  presence  of  Fraulein  Lavater  in  our 
midst.  She  came  among  us  as  a  true  angel  of  peace, 
bringing  harmony  into  the  strange  mass  of  hetero- 

103 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

geneous  elements — sometimes  most  conflicting  and 
discordant — of  which  our  household  was  composed. 
Never  were  we  so  happy,  either  as  children  or  a  little 
later  on,  as  when  sitting  with  her,  close  up  beside 
her  chair,  listening  to  all  she  had  to  tell  us.  Her 
memory  was  so  excellent  and  had  been  so  assidu- 
ously cultivated,  that  her  mind  was  a  perfect  treas- 
ure-house of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest  in  the  litera- 
ture of  the  world.  She  was  never  idle;  her  fingers 
always  occupied  with  some  pretty  piece  of  needle- 
work whilst  she  talked,  and  when  alone,  they  worked 
on  indefatigably,  her  eyes  meanwhile  fixed  on  the 
book  that  lay  open  before  her.  It  was  owing  to 
this  praiseworthy  habit,  that  in  the  course  of  com- 
pleting some  beautiful  piece  of  lace  or  embroidery, 
that  looked  as  if  wrought  by  fairy  fingers,  she  had 
at  the  same  time  committed  whole  pages  of  her 
favourite  authors  to  memory,  and  would  therefore 
not  only  relate  to  us  the  substance  of  her  reading, 
but  even  recite  long  passages  of  poetry  or  prose  by 
the  hour  together,  in  her  soft  agreeable  voice,  and 
with  most  admirable  elocution.  Her  needlework 
was  truly  artistic;  much  of  it  would  have  been 
worthy  to  find  a  place  in  a  museum.  Her  tapestry- 
work  was  as  if  painted,  and  an  artist  friend  of  ours 
once  said  of  her  groups  and  landscapes,  that  whilst 
the  paintings  done  by  some  young  ladies  of  his 
acquaintance  looked  as  if  worked  in  cross-stitch, 
Friiulein  Fanny's  needlework  was  so  fine  that  it 
might  have  been  painted!  "Look  at  that  grey 
horse,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  a  little  group,  "so 

104 


FANNY  LAVATER 

delicately  is  it  shaded,  that  Wouwerman  might  have 
acknowledged  it  as  the  product  of  his  brush!" 

Her  own  harmonious  and  well  balanced  disposi- 
tion enabled  our  dear  "Fraulchen"  to  play  the  part 
of  peace-maker  among  stormier  natures,  and  her  in- 
fluence was  ever  used  for  good.  Never  in  thirty 
years  of  the  closest  intimacy  did  I  hear  a  single 
word  fall  from  her  lips,  by  which  I  could  possibly 
have  felt  hurt;  and  I  was  as  ultra-sensitive  and 
liable  to  take  offence,  as  are  most  children,  who  are 
too  harshly  brought  up.  With  others  I  was  always 
looking  out  for  blame, — a  scolding  seemed  the  nat- 
ural thing  to  expect, — never  with  her!  She  could 
find  fault,  too,  when  it  was  needful,  but  with  so 
much  tact  and  kindness,  and  accompanying  her 
criticism  with  reflections  that  took  away  all  its 
bitterness  and  made  it  sound  almost  like  indirect 
praise;  and  then  when  I  looked  up  at  her,  half  in 
alarm,  with  her  soft  little  hand  she  would  stroke 
mine  and  say  smiling : — ' '  There  was  the  horrid  little 
serpent  concealed  beneath  the  roses,  was  it  not?" 
She  was  for  ever  pouring  oil  on  the  troubled  waters, 
making  life  better  and  happier  for  everyone,  and 
most  of  all  for  us  poor  children,  who  had  in  many 
respects  a  very  hard  time,  in  an  atmosphere  so  little 
conducive  to  our  healthy  and  happy  development. 
"We  were  accustomed  to  say  among  ourselves  that  we 
were  a  three-leaved  shamrock  of  ill-luck,  our  initials 
— (of  all  our  names, Otto,  Wilhelm,and  Elizabeth), — 
forming  together  the  sound  Oweh,  or  Woe! 

Poor  little  woful  shamrock  in  truth  it  was!  We 
often  stood  in  need  of  someone  to  protect  us,  our 

105 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

parents '  ill-health  placing  us  so  entirely  in  the  hands 
of  our  first  governesses  and  nursery-governesses, 
who  unfortunately  happened  to  be  anything  but  fitted 
for  a  position  of  such  trust.  We  should  have  suf- 
fered still  more  from  their  harsh  treatment  and 
rough  ways,  had  not  Fraulein  Lavater  constantly 
stepped  in,  to  interpose  calmly  and  gently  on  our 
behalf.  My  gratitude  towards  her  knew  no  bounds, 
and  can  find  but  scant  expression  in  the  words  I 
write,  which  seem  cold  and  colourless  beside  the 
feelings  that  dictate  them.  She  alone  understood 
the  restless  workings  of  my  imagination,  its  insati- 
able thirst  of  beauty,  not  to  be  stilled  by  the  daily 
portion  of  dull  dry  fact,  which  was  alone  provided 
by  our  earliest  instruction,  she  alone  cared  to  satisfy 
the  intense  longing  for  poetry,  for  literature,  for 
some  other  knowledge  than  was  contained  in  the 
little  scholastic  manuals  of  science  and  history  on 
which  our  young  minds  were  almost  exclusively  fed. 
Thanks  to  her,  when  I  was  eight  years  old,  I  was 
liberated  from  the  very  disagreeable  young  gover- 
ness who  had  tyrannised  over  me  since  my  fourth 
year,  and  a  friend  of  her  own  substituted,  an  amia- 
ble and  highly-instructed  woman,  with  whom  I  at 
once  made  great  progress,  my  studies  becoming  from 
that  moment  a  real  delight  to  me.  Grammar,  and 
French  grammar  above  all,  was  a  real  passion  with 
me,  and  unconsciously  I  was  already  then,  in  my 
love  of  languages  and  of  language  itself,  cultivating 
and  preparing  the  instrument  that  was  one  day  to 
be  my  own,  to  be  played  on  as  others  play  on  the 
strings  of  a  harp  or  violin.     But  clever  and  accom- 

106 


FANNY  LAVATER 

plished  as  Fraulein  Josse  was,  and  much  as  I  en- 
joyed my  lessons  with  her,  the  hours  spent  with 
Fraulein  Lavater  were  worth  even  more,  for  her 
knowledge  had  a  still  wider  range,  her  judgment  was 
more  calm  and  clear,  being  utterly  unbiased  by  any 
personal  considerations.  She  possessed  a  special 
gift  for  calming  the  tumult — a  tumult  of  thought  un- 
suspected by  everyone  else — which  my  lively  imag- 
ination sometimes  set  up  in  my  brain.  As  she  was 
the  only  person  who  could  sympathise  with  my 
flights  of  fancy,  perhaps  the  only  one  who  did  not 
consider  absolutely  culpable  and  reprehensible  the 
tendency  to  indulge  in  them,  it  was  only  natural  that 
she  should  be  the  sole  confidante  of  my  dreams  and 
aspirations.  With  her  too  I  could  give  vent  to 
my  natural  liveliness,  to  the  perpetual  flow  of  high 
spirits,  so  sadly  out  of  place  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  sick-room.  My  youthful  health  and  strength 
drew  down  on  me  all  sorts  of  uncomplimentary 
epithets  from  some  of  the  elder  members  of  the 
family,  to  whom,  more  even  than  to  the  invalids,  my 
liveliness  must  have  been  a  trial;  Whirlwind,  Flib- 
bertigibbet, Will-o'-the-wisp,  these  were  a  few  of 
the  names  showered  on  me  by  Uncle  Max,  and  more 
or  less  acquiesced  in  by  the  rest.  It  must  have  been 
the  sensation  of  exuberant,  irrepressible  vitality 
within  me  which  made  me  one  day  exclaim — 
"Mamma,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  carry  away  a  moun- 
tain!" Alas!  I  have  sometimes  thought  since  that 
my  heedless  words  must  have  been  overheard  by 
Fate! 
When  I  came  back  from  St.  Petersburg  everything 

107 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

was  changed,  my  dear  father  dead,  and  quite  a  dif- 
ferent way  of  living  to  be  entered  on  by  my  mother 
and  myself,  she  being  restricted  henceforth  to  her 
dower  for  her  own  use,  the  estates  of  course  passing 
into  my  brother's  hands,  and  simply  being  adminis- 
tered by  her  until  his  coming  of  age.  We 
could  now  no  longer  keep  open  house  as  in  the 
old  days,  in  which  the  carriage  had  scarcely  de- 
parted that  took  away  one  party  of  guests,  when 
already  and  perhaps  quite  unexpectedly  another 
would  appear  round  the  corner  bringing  a  fresh 
relay.  It  was  a  quiet  and  rather  lonely  life  that 
began  thus  suddenly  for  us  three  women,  but  no  less 
full  of  interest,  thanks  to  the  one  of  us,  to  our 
dear  Fraulein  Lavater!  We  were  hardly  an  hour 
of  the  day  apart  from  one  another,  she  and  I ;  when 
the  weather  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  go  out, 
if  the  wind  was  raging  or  the  snow  falling  fast,  then 
we  contented  ourselves  with  walking  up  and  down 
indoors,  pacing  the  rooms  sometimes  for  hours,  sub- 
jects of  conversation  never  failing,  her  well-stored 
mind  always  ready  to  provide  some  fresh  topic,  and 
her  marvellous  swiftness  of  intuition  enabling  her 
to  place  herself  at  another's  point  of  view,  and  par- 
ticipate in  phases  of  thought  and  feeling  quite  new 
to  her.  I  had  but  just  returned  home  after  a 
lengthy  absence,  in  which  I  had  travelled  much,  seen 
many  new  countries,  and  met  numbers  of  celebrated 
and  interesting  people.  She  meanwhile  had  re- 
mained quietly  at  home,  surrounded  daily  by  the 
same  scenes,  the  same  faces.  And  yet,  how  infi- 
nitely richer  and  fuller  she  had  contrived  to  make 

108 


FANNY  LAVATER 

her  life,  that  inner  life,  which  is  in  truth  indepen- 
dent of  and  superior  to  all  influences  from  without ! 
I  could  wish  that  many  another  young  girl  might 
go  through  the  experience  that  then  was  mine,  that 
she  might  enjoy  and  profit  by  days  like  our  winter- 
days  in  Monrepos,  provided,  of  course,  that  she  had 
such  a  companion  as  Fraulein  Lavater  to  share  in 
them.  And  better  still  were  the  long  winter  even- 
ings, when  we  sat  round  the  lamp,  the  immense  deep 
stillness  of  the  mighty  woods  reigning  outside  and 
a  like  feeling  of  calm,  of  aloofness  from  the  world 
dwelling  within  our  souls.  Of  inestimable  value 
was  that  time  for  me,  after  all  the  bustle  and  fatigue 
of  the  long  journeys,  of  the  rapid  succession  of 
events,  of  all  the  changing,  shifting  phantasmagoria 
of  the  busy,  restless  world,  stamped  in  almost  be- 
wildering variety  on  my  brain.  The  impressions 
had  been  so  vivid,  so  multitudinous,  they  bade  fair 
to  grow  confused  or  distorted,  crowding  on  and 
threatening  to  efface  each  other.  But  now,  in  this 
quiet  uneventful  existence,  I  could  look  through  the 
rich  collection  I  had  brought  home  with  me,  could 
examine  each  treasure  undisturbed,  and  range  them 
all  in  order,  could  bring  myself  into  harmony  with 
all  I  had  so  recently  acquired.  How  quickly  those 
evenings  passed!  Our  fingers  were  busy  all  the 
time;  my  mother  spinning,  and  I  already  making 
all  sorts  of  new  inventions  in  tatting, — that  pretty 
work  of  which  I  have  always  been  so  fond,  and 
which  I  have  gone  on  elaborating  of  late  years  into 
something  resembling  old-fashioned  ecclesiastical 
embroideries.    We  talked  at  intervals,  or  else  read 

109 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

aloud  by  turns, — from  some  author  whose  high  and 
noble  thoughts  we  might  meditate  on  for  long  after. 

It  was  the  sensation  of  being  enfolded  and  shut 
off  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  the  woods  around 
us,  that  lent  those  evenings  their  peculiar  charm. 
Often  during  the  day  I  had  wandered  for  hours 
through  my  beloved  woods,  with  the  sole  companion- 
ship of  the  faithful  St.  Bernard  dogs,  my  trusty 
guardians.  We  did  not  keep  to  the  beaten  path,  but 
plunged  into  the  deepest  thickets,  threading  our  way 
through  the  most  tangled  growth  of  brushwood. 
And  on  my  return,  my  first  care  was  to  note  down 
the  songs  which  the  trees  had  whispered  in  my  ear 
as  I  passed  beneath  them.  I  was  the  wild  rose, 
the  wood  rose,  for  all  my  friends.  They  had  christ- 
ened me  thus,  because  of  the  roses  on  my  cheeks, 
which  I  never  lost,  although  so  much  of  my  youth 
had  been  spent  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  sick-room. 
I  might  indeed  pass  as  a  living  contradiction  to 
every  sort  of  theory  of  infection,  my  magnificent 
health  would  have  given  the  lie  to  all  stories  of 
germs  and  microbes, — I  was  really  never  ill  in  my 
life,  and  never  had  occasion  to  see  a  doctor,  until 
the  attack  of  tjTphoid  fever  I  had  while  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. That  was  perhaps  in  a  great  measure  the 
result  of  the  long  anxiety,  the  sadness  of  years, 
but  it  did  not  come  on  till  afterwards,  not  in  the 
least  as  an  immediate  consequence  of  the  unhealthy 
atmosphere  in  which  I  had  grown  up. 

The  drawback  to  the  life  we  were  now  leading, 
lay  of  course  in  its  natural  tendency  to  encourage 
mere  dreaming,  almost  at  the  expense  perhaps  of 

110 


FANNY  LAVATER 

one's  active  duties,  of  all  practical  work.  For  me 
this  might  have  been  a  special  danger,  had  I  not  been 
preserved  from  it  by  the  good  sense,  the  clearsight- 
edness, the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  of  my  Mentor. 
Of  herself  she  never  thought  at  all.  Therein  lay 
the  secret  of  her  great  power,  of  her  unbounded 
influence.  On  her  deathbed  she  could  say: — "How 
good  it  is,  when  one's  whole  life  has  been  filled  by 
one  great  affection!" 

For  those  who  knew  her  best,  her  whole  existence 
was  summed  up  in  those  words.  But  did  they 
also  contain  a  hidden  meaning,  the  key  to  a  secret 
none  had  ever  guessed,  some  page  of  quite  unsus- 
pected romance,  an  attachment  which  death  or  cir- 
cumstances had  cut  short!  I  had  sometimes  won- 
dered that  she  alone  of  all  her  sisters  had  remained 
unmarried,  had  therefore  never  known  the  happi- 
ness of  having  a  home,  a  family  of  her  own;  but, 
like  everyone  else,  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
idea  that  her  devotion  to  my  mother  was  so  all- 
absorbing  as  to  leave  no  room  for  any  other  affec- 
tion in  her  heart.  Most  probably  was  it  so,  and 
that  her  last  words  did  but  refer  to  the  friendship, 
the  affection,  to  which  she  had  devoted  her  whole 
life,  identifying  herself  so  entirely  with  the  feelings, 
the  hopes,  the  interests  and  aims  of  the  family  of 
which  in  the  truest  sense  she  had  become  a  member, 
that  she  found  within  that  circle  ample  scope  for 
the  exercise  of  all  her  energy,  the  satisfaction  of  all 
her  wishes,  nor  ever  for  one  moment  regretted  hav- 
ing formed  no  other  ties.  She  died  in  the  year  1877, 
after  the  Balkan  war,  that  war  on  which  hung  the 

111 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

destinies  of  Koumania,  and  out  of  which  the  country- 
came  forth  victorious  and  independent,  and  before 
her  death  she  had  come  to  pay  me  a  visit  there, 
appearing  in  her  old  character  of  an  angel  of  peace 
and  consolation.  For  it  was  in  the  saddest,  darkest 
hour  of  my  whole  existence,  that  in  which  its  whole 
joy  and  happiness,  granted  to  me  for  so  short  a 
time,  had  been  torn  from  me  forever,  and  when  my 
only  wish  was  to  be  allowed  myself  to  die  also.  In 
that  moment  of  utter  hopelessness,  none  knew  as 
did  this  old  friend  of  mine,  in  what  manner  alone 
to  strive  to  reconcile  me  with  life.  Hers  were  the 
gentle  words,  the  gentle  touch,  that  can  never  hurt, 
that  one  can  bear,  even  when  one's  whole  heart 
seems  to  be  an  open  wound.  "Bun  de  pus  pe  rana," 
— "good  enough  to  be  put  on  a  wound,"  is  a  Rou- 
manian proverb,  that  always  recurs  to  me,  in  think- 
ing of  Fraulein  Lavater,  for  it  exactly  describes  the 
feeling  one  had  when  with  her.  Her  hands  were 
soft  as  satin,  and  in  the  moral  or  spiritual  sphere, 
she  had  just  the  same  exquisite  softness  of  touch. 
"Whilst  others,  even  with  the  very  best  intentions, 
seemed  only  too  often  to  bear  heavily  on  a  spot 
too  sensitive  to  be  breathed  upon,  every  word  and 
action  of  hers  was  like  balm  to  the  soul.  Instead  of 
making  the  vain  attempt  to  offer  consolation  for  a 
sorrow  beyond  redress,  she  understood  at  once  that 
in  sufh  utter  bereavement  one  can  only  be  reconciled 
to  the  world  by  the  effort  to  live  for  others.  And 
that  lesson  she  was  best  fitted  to  teach,  who  had  for 
so  many  years  practised  it  in  her  own  person,  put- 
ting herself  so  entirely  on  one  side,  and  only  think- 

112 


FANNY  LAVATER 

ing  how  she  could  help  and  comfort  those  around 
her.  One  felt  sure  of  never  being  misunderstood 
or  misjudged  by  her,  since  her  readiness  of  sym- 
pathy enabled  her  at  all  times  to  put  herself  in 
another's  place,  and  look  at  the  situation  from  an- 
other point  of  view.  Witty  and  amusing  in  conver- 
sation, her  modesty  made  her  draw  back  more  and 
more  from  general  society  as  she  grew  older,  under 
the  plea  that  old  people  are  always  dull,  but  this  did 
not  prevent  a  proper  sense  of  her  own  dignity,  of 
that  which  was  due  to  herself.  She  once  said  to 
me  with  a  smile,  in  relating  an  incident  from  which 
it  appeared  that  she  had  scarce  been  treated  with 
due  consideration — "Well,  if  the  place  allotted  me 
at  table  did  me  no  honour,  I  must  suppose  that  I  did 
honour  to  the  place  by  accepting  it!"  Impartial 
and  dispassionate  in  her  judgment  of  men  and 
events,  she  was  equally  unbiased  in  her  literary 
criticisms,  paying  absolutely  no  heed  to  the  voice  of 
public  opinion  in  such  matters,  but  thinking  and 
judging  for  herself.  No  one  I  have  known  ever  pos- 
sessed in  the  same  degree  the  gift  of  rapid  and 
unerring  discernment:  she  would  glance  through  a 
volume,  and  in  a  moment  her  mind  was  made  up 
as  to  its  contents;  she  seemed  able  to  take  in,  and 
digest  and  assimilate  them,  in  less  time  than  it  would 
take  most  people  to  read  the  headings  of  the  chap- 
ters. It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  see  her,  when  a  big 
parcel  of  books  arrived  from  a  library;  sometimes 
a  peep  into  the  uncut  pages  of  a  volume  sufficed  for 
it  to  be  put  on  one  side  to  be  returned  as  not  worthv 
of  further  attention,  whilst  over  others  she  hovered, 
8  113 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

paper-knife  in  hand,  glancing  now  here,  now  there, 
and  choosing  the  best  for  more  serious  perusal, 
like  a  bee,  we  used  to  tell  her,  that  darts  from  one 
plant  to  the  other,  sipping  honey  from  the  choicest 
blossoms! 

Like  the  bees  too,  who  are  not  content  each  to 
gather  honey  for  itself  alone,  but  bring  it  all  to  the 
common  store,  the  treasures  culled  by  Fraulein  Lav- 
ater  from  her  reading  were  not  intended  solely  for 
her  own  pleasure  and  profit,  but  were  ever  destined 
to  more  unselfish  purposes.  She  could  enliven  the 
dullest  society,  revive  the  most  languishing  conver- 
sation with  some  apposite  remark,  some  reference 
to  a  topic  so  well  chosen  that  even  the  most  listless 
felt  their  interest  aroused.  And  best  of  all,  her 
soft  low  voice  was  like  a  charm  for  mental  fatigue 
or  overstrung  nerves.  It  was  as  if  she  could  wile 
away  headache  or  worry  with  her  gentle  tones,  she 
brought  comfort  to  every  sick-bed,  and  in  the  long 
weary  day  of  convalescence,  when  the  work  of  tak- 
ing up  again  the  burden  of  existence  is  perchance 
almost  too  great  an  effort  for  the  weakened  frame, 
who  was  there  could  ever,  like  Fraulchen,  cheer  and 
rouse  one  from  one's  apathy,  who  else  possessed 
such  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  delightful  stories,  or 
could  relate  them  as  she  did?  How  often,  in  later 
days,  in  the  long  slow  recovery  from  illness,  have  I 
not  sighed  for  her  presence,  feeling  that  she  could 
beguile  my  pain  and  weariness  with  one  of  the 
stories  or  legends  she  told  so  well.  She  it  was  who 
first  encouraged  in  me  the  taste  for  literature,  the 
love  of  poetry,  in  which  others  saw  only  a  weakness 

114 


FANNY  LAVATER 

and  a  danger.  It  was  her  guiding  hand  that 
directed  my  youthful  talent  into  the  right  path, 
treating  it  as  a  plant  worthy  of  cultivation,  and  not 
as  a  dangerous  or  perhaps  even  poisonous  weed,  to 
be  rooted  up  or  trodden  under  foot!  For  it  was  to 
many  quite  a  shocking  idea,  that  a  princess  should 
not  merely  have  the  misfortune  to  be  born  a  poet, 
but  that  she  should  actually  take  no  pains  to  conceal 
so  terrible  a  fact !  That  sort  of  talent  really  could 
not  be  considered  suitable  to  one's  station,  and 
where  there  was  no  possibility  of  extirpating,  it 
must  at  least  be  hidden  away  out  of  sight!  But 
Fraulein  Lavater,  in  her  quiet  unobtrusive  way, 
saying  no  word  to  hurt  prevailing  prejudices  and 
thereby  expose  me  to  still  greater  disapprobation, 
found  the  means  of  lending  just  the  aid  and  shelter- 
ing care  so  requisite  to  my  first  timid  attempts  at 
giving  poetic  form  to  the  emotional  and  intellectual 
chaos  over  which  I  brooded.  The  sure  and  refined 
taste  of  the  elder  woman  rendered  invaluable  ser- 
vice to  the  somewhat  headlong  and  indiscriminat- 
ing  enthusiasm  of  youth,  in  pointing  out  to  me,  at 
the  same  time  with  the  best  models  for  admiration 
and  imitation,  errors  to  be  avoided,  excesses  and 
weaknesses  to  be  condemned.  Then,  as  later,  it  was 
the  certainty  that  one's  efforts  and  aspirations, 
one's  failures  and  mistakes  would  meet  in  her,  not 
merely  with  justice,  but  with  that  indulgence  which 
is  perhaps  the  highest  form  of  human  justice,  this 
it  was  which  inspired  one  with  confidence  in  seeking 
her  verdict,  and  spared  one  the  excessive,  discour- 
agement  some  criticisms  invariably  leave  behind. 

115 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

A  sense  of  justice  is  very  strong  in  most  children, 
and  they  suffer  more  acutely  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed, in  the  consciousness  of  being  unjustly  treated. 
Misjudged  as  in  my  childhood  I  felt  myself  to  be  by 
the  iron  disciplinarians  whose  aim  it  was  to  crush 
out  all  originality,  it  was  a  comfort  to  know  that  to 
one  person  I  never  appeared  wilful  or  headstrong, 
and  it  was  perhaps  scarce  possible  to  experience  a 
greater  satisfaction  than  was  mine  in  later  years,  in 
hearing  Fraulchen's  affectionate  tribute  to  ''our  sun- 
beam," as  she  was  fond  of  calling  me: — "She  was 
always  a  dear  good  child,  only  wishing  to  make 
everyone  happy ! ' ' 

To  this  very  day,  in  those  moments  of  disappoint- 
ment and  lassitude  by  which  all  of  us  are  at  times 
beset,  I  have  but  to  think  of  Fraulein  Lavater,  for 
the  old  feeling  of  peace  and  calm  to  come  over  me, 
and  the  physical  pain  is  at  once  stilled,  and  the  cares 
and  troubles  that  seemed  overpowering  shrink  into 
insignificance.  More  than  once,  in  times  gone  by, 
when  the  burden  laid  upon  my  shoulders  seemed 
greater  than  I  could  bear,  her  adroit  touch  adjusted 
it  and  turned  it  into  a  feather-weight,  and  recalling 
this,  I  rouse  myself  again  to  the  struggle,  to  find  as 
before  my  strength  and  courage  increase,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  difficulties  of  the  situation.  I  was  in 
good  truth  Fraulchen's  pupil,  her  spiritual  child, 
and  it  was  as  much  for  her  as  for  myself  that  I  was 
indignant,  when  of  recent  years  an  absurd  report 
came  to  my  knowledge,  of  a  nervous  complaint  from 
which  I  was  said  to  be  suffering!  As  soon  might 
one  have  credited  her,  the  best-balanced  person  in 

116 


FANNY  LAVATER 

the  world,  with  an  hysterical  or  nervous  attack, 
since,  like  herself,  I  have  always  had  my  nerves 
under  perfect  control,  and  sharing  in  her  somewhat 
contemptuous  feeling  for  neurasthenia,  neurosis,  or 
any  other  such  new-fangled  disorder,  I  should  con- 
sider it  something  degrading,  of  which  to  be 
ashamed,  to  be  justly  ranged  among  its  victims.  I 
have  given,  I  think,  sufficient  proof  to  the  contrary, 
and  have  shown  of  what  well-tempered  steel  my 
nerves  are  made,  by  continuing  my  work  uninter- 
ruptedly during  long  years  of  ill-health,  and  in  spite 
of  severe  and  almost  unremitting  pain,  of  which  the 
doctors  only  much  later  discovered  the  cause.  Well 
may  I  claim  to  disdain  nerves  and  all  who  suffer 
from  them,  considering  that  they  only  too  often 
serve  as  a  mask,  behind  which  selfishness  and  hypoc- 
risy are  hidden.  Fraulein  Lavater,  at  any  rate,  did 
not  plead  nerves  if  ever  her  equanimity  were  dis- 
turbed; she  would  own  quite  candidly: — "I  am  so 
irritable  to-day !" 

In  one  of  the  little  albums — "Books  of  Confes- 
sions,''  as  they  were  called, — that  at  one  time  had  so 
much  vogue,  among  a  host  of  silly  questions,  this 
one  was  asked:  "Of  all  human  qualities  which  do 
you  prize  most  highly?"  Without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, my  father  wrote  down:  "Enlightened  good- 
ness of  heart!"  No  better  description  could  be 
given  of  our  Fraulein.  Hers  was  the  kindness,  the 
goodness  of  heart,  that  may  be  truly  said  to  be 
"illuminated"  by  the  understanding;  not  that  mere 
unthinking,  easy  good  nature,  blind  in  perception 
and  indiscriminate  in  action,  but  the  sympathy  that 

117 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

springs  from  deepest  insight,  the  indulgence  that  is 
born  of  comprehension — in  a  word,  the  charity  that 
"beareth  and  endureth  all  things."  In  each  family- 
circle,  ever  a  little  world  in  itself,  with  its  some- 
times incongruous  elements  and  oft  divergent  and 
conflicting  interests,  and  wherein  the  little  rift  may 
so  soon  be  widened  to  an  irreparable  breach,  the 
trifling  dissension  develop  into  implacable  enmity, 
the  presence  of  one  person  endowed  with  this  rarest 
of  human  attributes  will  ever  be  the  harmonising 
medium,  the  spirit  of  conciliation,  the  factor  indis- 
pensable to  the  cohesion  of  the  group. 

Would  that  there  were  more  like  Fraulchen  in 
this  weary  world!  Fate  is  hard  enough  towards 
most  of  us.  No  need  that  we  should  ever  strive 
to  place  a  stumbling-block  in  another's  path,  or 
make  it  darker  by  one  shadow  the  more.  Let  us 
at  least  cherish  the  memory  of  all,  whose  ''irradiat- 
ing kindliness"  for  a  moment  brightened  the  gloom. 

Wherever  great  intelligence  and  true  culture  com- 
bine, as  in  the  person  of  Fanny  Lavater,  with  moral 
strength  and  sweetness  to  the  formation  of  a  char- 
acter, the  result  is  like  the  harmonious  blending  of 
rich  hues  in  some  beautiful  old  cathedral  window, 
through  which  the  daylight  streaming,  transforms 
into  new  and  unwonted  loveliness  even  the  common- 
es1  objects  on  which  it  falls! 


CHAPTER  VII 

B UK SEN 

It  was  at  the  time  when  this  learned  and  accom- 
plished friend  of  the  highly  gifted  King  Frederick 
William  IV.  was  the  representative  of  Prussia  at 
the  Court  of  St.  James,  that  I  first  visited  England 
in  my  childhood.  We  came  over  twice,  on  the  first 
occasion  to  stay  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  whilst  our 
second  visit  was  divided  between  Hastings  and 
London.  A  sincere  and  lasting  friendship  then 
sprang  up  between  my  family  and  that  of  this  re- 
markable man,  continuing  to  this  day  among  the 
members  of  a  younger  generation. 

Bunsen  loved  to  be  the  Mecsenas  of  men  of  talent, 
and  many  were  the  interesting  people  whom  we  met 
at  his  house.  The  whole  family  was  musical;  two 
of  the  sons,  just  then  students  at  the  University  of 
Bonn,  sang  most  delightfully;  "Kathleen  Mavour- 
neen"  was  first  made  known  to  me  by  the  pleasing 
tenor  of  the  one,  and  the  other  gave  the  famous 
"Figaro  qua, Figaro  la,"  of  the  "Barber  of  Seville, " 
with  great  effect  in  his  agreeable  baritone.  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  organ  in  Westminster 
Abbey  played  by  the  eldest  daughter,  whose  profes- 
sor, the  celebrated  organist,  Neukomm,  became  from 
that  moment  a  most  welcome  guest  in  our  house, 
sometimes  staying  with  us  for  weeks  at  a  time.  It 
was  from  this  fine  old  musician  that  in  my  twelfth 
year  I  began  learning  the  harmonium,  and  became 

119 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

moreover  an  enthusiast  like  himself  for  the  sweet 
plaintive  tones  of  the  iEolian  harp.  It  was  his 
delight  to  fix  one  of  these  simple  instruments  in  the 
crack  of  an  open  door,  and  seat  himself  in  the  full 
draught,  to  listen  for  and  note  down  the  weird  melo- 
dies played  by  the  wind.  Often  on  a  lovely  sum- 
mer's evening, — in  the  moonlight  of  Monrepos  that 
has  been  sung  of  among  us  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration,— we  would  have  the  harmonium  brought 
out  on  the  terrace,  and  letting  his  fingers  stray  over 
the  keys,  Neukomm  would  imitate  the  sighing  of  the 
breeze  in  the  strings  of  the  harp,  catching  up  the 
echo  of  some  murmuring  sound,  and  repeating  and 
improvising  on  it  for  hours. 

Our  stay  in  the  Isle  of  Wight  was  delightful,  and 
I  look  back  on  the  pretty  little  island  as  a  sort  of 
earthly  paradise,  fit  scene  for  a  happy,  idyllic  life. 
Our  little  villa  was  smothered  in  the  clustering  roses 
that  climbed  over  it  everywhere,  and  on  all  sides 
stretched  a  lawn  of  beautiful  soft  green  grass,  per- 
fectly kept,  but  upon  which  we  children  could  fling 
ourselves  and  play  to  our  hearts '  content ;  such  a  re- 
lief after  the  perpetual  injunctions  to  refrain  from 
stepping  on  the  grass,  to  which  we  were  accustomed 
in  Germany.  Then  we  had  the  good  luck  too,  to  be 
by  the  sea  during  a  spring-tide,  a  novel  experience, 
that  gave  us  a  most  glorious  excitement,  as  we  hap- 
pened to  be  taking  our  daily  sea -bath,  and  there  was 
the  very  greatest  difficulty  in  getting  the  bathing- 
machine  safely  back  to  the  beach  again.  The  ropes 
with  which  the  poor  horse  was  harnessed  gave  way, 
and  the  man,  who  was  pale  with  fright,  had  hard 

120 


BUNSEN 

work  to  rescue  the  little  house-on-wkeels  with  its 
occupants,  whilst  my  brother  and  I  were  simply 
delighted  to  see  the  waves  dash  over  it,  rejoicing 
at  last  to  encounter  something  that  was  like  a  real 
adventure ! 

Our  second  visit  to  England  was  in  the  year  1851, 
and  we  were  in  London  just  at  the  closing  of  the 
first  great  International  Exhibition,  at  which  I  re- 
member seeing  immense  crowds  of  people  standing 
bare-headed  and  cheering,  as  "God  save  the 
Queen !"  was  played.  That  spectacle  made  more  im- 
pression on  me  than  anything  in  the  Exhibition 
itself,  unless  it  was  perhaps  the  splendid  trees,  one 
giant  oak-tree  in  particular,  which  had  been  built 
in  with  the  edifice,  completely  roofed  over  by  the 
big  glass  dome.  Other  contemporary  events  I  did 
not  witness  myself,  but  only  heard  of  them  from  our 
friends, — the  funeral  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
for  instance, — which  they  described  to  us  passing 
their  house,  the  Embassy  in  Carlton  Terrace,  in  an 
endless  procession  rolling  on  for  hours,  like  wave 
on  wave  in  swift  succession,  to  the  mournful  strains 
of  the  Dead  March  from  the  Eroica  Symphony.  As 
the  sounds  of  one  military  band  died  away  in  the 
distance,  the  next  one  had  already  come  up  in  step 
to  the  melancholy  cadence  of  the  selfsame  march. 
Just  like  the  rising  and  sinking  of  ocean  waves  was 
the  impressive  yet  monotonous  grandeur  of  the 
nation's  tribute  to  its  great  soldier. 

The  Prussian  Embassy  was  at  that  time  fre- 
quented by  almost  every  one  of  talent  or  high  intel- 
lectual culture  to  be  found  in  London,  Bunsen  pos- 

121 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

sessing  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  gift  of  attracting 
clever  people  to  himself.  He  was  quick  too  to 
discern  the  promise  of  future  eminence  in  others, 
and  many  might  relate  how  in  that  genial  atmos- 
phere their  talent  was  discovered  and  encouraged 
and  obtained  its  first  recognition.  Mendelssohn  and 
Max  Miiller  were  amongst  those  who  quite  young- 
there  found  themselves  at  once  prized  at  their  true 
value.  The  conversational  powers  of  the  master  of 
the  house  himself,  the  young  people  so  gifted  and 
versatile,  the  open  hospitality,  the  excellent  music, — 
all  these  things  were  so  many  magnets,  that  drew 
strangers  within  the  charmed  sphere.  I  was  of 
course  not  capable  then  of  appreciating  the  depth  of 
Bunsen's  learning  or  his  intellectual  worth,  but  his 
marvellous  command  of  language  and  rhetorical 
facility  impressed  me  greatly.  In  the  fluency  of 
his  speech,  the  ease  and  elegance  with  which  on  all 
occasions  he  expressed  himself,  he  resembled  his 
royal  friend,  Frederick  William  IV.  And  his  hand- 
some face  recalled  that  of  the  great  Goethe  at  an 
advanced  age,  the  likeness  being  especially  striking 
on  his  deathbed. 

But  it  was  only  natural  that  at  that  time  Bunsen's 
children  and  grandchildren  should  interest  me  much 
more  than  he  did  himself.  The  lame  daughter, 
above  all,  like  my  mother  at  that  time,  being  always 
wheeled  about  in  her  chair  and  unable  to  walk  a 
step,  and  in  whose  features  I  also  discovered  some- 
thing of  a  likeness  to  my  mother,  that  perhaps  lay 
in  the  kind  gentle  smile.  The  sympathy  they  felt 
for  one  another  was  naturally  strengthened  by  their 

122 


BUNSEN 

common  misfortune,  in  each  case  the  lameness 
appearing  to  be  absolutely  incurable.  During  the 
summer  we  spent  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  my  mother 
could  still  go  about  on  crutches,  then  after  the  birth 
of  my  younger  brother  her  condition  grew  far  worse, 
complete  atrophy  of  the  one  leg  having  apparently 
set  in,  and  the  pain  hardly  allowing  her  any  sleep 
at  night.  Fraulein  von  Bunsen's  lameness  pro- 
ceeded from  an  attack  of  coxalgia  as  an  infant,  and 
since  her  sixth  year  all  hope  had  been  abandoned 
of  her  ever  being  able  to  walk.  We  children  were 
meantime  quite  at  home  in  the  house  of  one  of  her 
brothers,  playing  with  his  children,  with  whom  we 
continued  on  affectionate  terms  our  whole  life  long. 
It  is  a  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  look  back  on  fifty 
years  of  uninterrupted  friendship  such  as  this. 
Very  specially  did  it  exist  between  myself  and  Bun- 
sen  's  daughter-in-law,  Elizabeth,  so  dear  to  me,  that 
it  was  almost  as  if  ties  of  blood  had  united  us.  Only 
quite  recently  did  I  bid  a  last  farewell  to  this  sweet 
and  lovable  woman,  death  having  called  her  away. 
But  she  lives  on  in  my  remembrance,  and  I  have  an 
agreeable  recollection  also  of  her  father,  the  Quaker, 
Gurney,  and  of  his  greeting,  warm  and  courteous  in 
spite  of  his  keeping  his  hat  on  his  head,  as  he  met 
us  on  the  threshold  of  his  house  with  the  words — 
"Be  welcome  to  my  home!" 

I  observed  and  learned  a  great  deal  more  than 
anyone  at  that  time  suspected !  It  was  my  first  stay 
in  a  great  city,  and  the  first  lesson  it  brought  home 
to  me  was  that  of  complete  acquiescence  in  my  own 
limitations,  or  rather  in  those  imposed  on  me  by 

123 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

circumstances,  my  very  modest  supply  of  pocket- 
money  making  quite  unattainable  all  the  splendours 
I  saw  exhibited  in  the  shop  windows.  There  was 
one  lovely  doll-shop,  with  the  most  exquisite  dolls, 
as  big  as  real  babies,  and  directly  I  had  a  small 
sum  to  spend,  I  made  my  way  thither,  quite  happy 
to  have  a  close  view  of  all  these  treasures,  even  if  I 
should  be  unable  to  purchase  any  of  them.  And  in 
truth,  it  was  just  the  tiniest  wax-doll  of  all  that  the 
contents  of  my  small  purse  could  buy — but  such 
a  lovely  one,  in  a  dear  little  tiny  bed  with  curtains 
of  rose-coloured  silk,  through  which  the  rosy  light 
streamed  over  the  delicate  little  wax  face.  How  I 
loved  that  doll !  It  looked  just  like  a  little  princess 
in  a  fairy  tale,  or  a  fairy  itself,  sleeping  there  in  the 
beautiful  rose-coloured  light.  None  of  the  bigger, 
grander  dolls  could  have  appealed  to  my  imagina- 
tion as  did  this  little  one.  After  all  it  is  on  that — 
on  the  part  played  by  their  own  imagination,  that 
chiefly  depends  the  amount  of  pleasure  children  get 
out  of  their  toys,  and  those  that  are  in  proportion 
to  their  own  diminutive  scale  and  on  a  level  with 
their  simple  requirements,  appeal  to  them  far  more 
than  others,  chiefly  remarkable  for  their  magnitude 
and  costliness.  Lively  as  I  was,  I  took  the  very 
greatest  care  of  all  my  toys,  treating  them  as  if 
they  were  animate,  sentient  objects,  so  that  I  was  in 
despair  if  any  of  them  got  broken  or  hurt.  Demon- 
strations of  affection  never  being  encouraged,  in  fact 
being  rather  sternly  repressed  in  our  family,  all  my 
pent  up  tenderness  poured  itself  out  on  my  dolls 
and  also  on  my  little  horse-hair  pillow  which  I  used 

124 


BUNSEN 

to  hug  and  kiss  in  gratitude  every  night  before  going 
to  sleep.  It  was  all  the  dearer  to  me,  because  it  was 
not  taken  with  us  on  our  journeys,  and  as  I  was 
not  allowed  to  sleep  on  a  down  pillow,  I  generally, 
when  we  were  away  from  home,  had  to  do  without 
altogether,  which  was  by  no  means  pleasant.  Not- 
withstanding— or  perhaps  in  consequence  of  this 
severe  training, — having  always  been  accustomed  in 
my  youth  to  sleep  on  a  rather  hard  thin  mattress 
stretched  on  a  very  narrow  camp  bedstead,  I  have 
grown  somewhat  more  luxurious  in  that  respect  in 
my  later  years,  and  can  hardly  now  be  too  softly 
pillowed  in  order  to  rest  at  ease.  It  is  as  if  there 
were  a  sort  of  reaction, — a  revolt  of  human  nature 
against  unnecessary  and  useless  hardships  imposed, 
— a  lassitude  of  the  whole  frame  to  which  some 
slight  measure  of  indulgence  must  be  accorded.  Not 
in  the  matter  of  the  palate  though!  Naturally  ab- 
stemious, the  habits  of  my  youth  still  prevail  with 
me  there  to  such  an  extent,  that  to  this  day  I  prefer 
a  slice  of  good  wholesome  black  bread  to  all  the  dain- 
tiest, most  skilfully  prepared  dishes  in  the  world! 
We  children  knew  too  by  experience  the  relish  that 
the  imagination  may  impart  to  the  simplest  fare, 
unconsciously  resembling  one  of  the  creations  of  the 
great  English  novelist  as  we  "made  believe"  to 
spread  a  little  butter  on  the  bread  which  the  hy- 
gienic theories  of  the  age  insisted  on  our  eating  dry ! 
But  everything  has  its  compensation,  and  who  knows 
if  those  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  which  were  our 
chief  resource,  are  not  denied  to  the  younger  genera- 
tion, from  whom  we  scarcely  seem  to  exact  even 

125 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

needful  self-restraint  and  self-denial,  much  less  to 
call  upon  them  for  any  exceptional  sacrifice  of  their 
own  comfort.  Where  every  whim  is  gratified  from 
the  outset,  there  remains  neither  the  necessity  nor 
the  inclination  to  seek  refuge  from  unpleasant  reali- 
ties in  a  fairer  world,  to  spread  one's  wings  and 
take  flight  for  the  realms  of  Fancy.  Do  the  children 
of  the  present  day  even  rightly  believe  in  the  possi- 
bility of  thus  spreading  their  wings!  Would  not 
some  of  these  little  sceptics  laugh  at  the  idea?  Poor 
little  things !  Can  it  really  be  that  there  is  no  fairy- 
land for  them,  no  enchanted  isles  in  the  distant 
ocean,  no  kingdoms  to  conquer,  no  heroic  deeds  to 
be  performed,  that  their  souls  find  complete  satisfac- 
tion in  the  prosaic  details  of  everyday  life,  and 
never  soar  beyond  the  region  of  dull  commonplace 
fact  of  their  dreary  school-hours?  They  little  know 
of  what  they  are  deprived !  They  could  never  guess 
the  joy  we  knew  in  the  possession  of  this  wondrous 
secret,  this  magic  key,  which  unlocked  the  gates  of 
fairyland,  of  the  world  of  dreams,  of  noble  adven- 
ture, wherein  we  could  wander  at  will.  What  battles 
we  fought,  what  gallant  deeds  we  performed,  what 
wrongs  we  redressed  with  the  aid  of  those  invisible 
armies,  always  at  hand  to  come  to  our  assistance  and 
conduct  us  to  victory,  when  the  odds  seemed  too 
overpowering!  But  we  had  not  invariably  such  ex- 
alted  ambitions  as  these,  it  was  not  even  always  the 
discovery  of  some  lonely  desert  island  on  which  we 
were  bent,  but  a  much  simpler,  more  modest  lot  satis- 
fied us,  provided  it  were  but  sufficiently  removed 
from  thai  which  in  truth  was  ours!    Thus  it  was  one 

126 


BUNSEN 

of  niy  favourite  ideas  from  the  time  I  was  four  years 
old,  to  be  a  village  schoolmistress,  but  I  could  not 
persuade  my  brother  to  promise  that  he  would  settle 
down  beside  me  as  the  schoolmaster.  That  would 
have  clashed  with  his  dream  of  being  a  soldier,  so 
it  was  settled  that  I  should  be  the  ' '  daughter  of  the 
regiment,"  the  vivandiere,  and  accompany  it  every- 
where so  that  we  might  not  be  separated.  Ah! 
what  marvellous  adventures,  what  hairbreadth  es- 
capes, what  glorious  triumphs  were  ours!  Some- 
times we  were  sold  as  slaves,  at  others  we  were  bold 
sea-farers  and  again  quiet  peasant-folk  carrying  our 
spades  and  milk-cans.  It  was  by  this  means  that  we 
kept  up  our  spirits,  and  preserved  our  good  humour 
successfully,  in  spite  of  all  that  was  irksome  in 
our  actual  surroundings.  Thanks  to  my  lively 
imagination,  I  did  not  succumb  to  the  persistent 
onslaught  of  the  educational  efforts  destined  to  turn 
the  current  of  my  thoughts  into  a  perfectly  alien 
channel.  In  vain  was  I  tied  down  to  science  and 
mathematics,  logarithms  and  equations  will  forever 
be  to  me  lifeless,  meaningless  abstractions,  and  it 
took  me  much  less  time  than  I  had  spent  in  acquiring 
it,  to  forget  the  velocity  of  a  body  falling  through 
space!  As  for  doing  a  simple  sum  in  addition,  I 
might  as  well  never  have  learned  the  process  at  all 
for  the  little  I  know  about  it  now.  But  the  art  of 
inventing  a  story,  of  calling  up  imaginary  beings, 
of  following  them  through  the  vicissitudes  of  their 
career,  and  weaving  all  this  together  to  a  plot — that 
was  mine  then  and  is  still  mine,  notwithstanding  all 
that  was  done  to  crush  it  out  of  me.     What  should 

127 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

I  have  done  on  the  long  tedious  journeys,  had  I  not 
been  able  to  amuse  myself  by  the  delightful  stories 
I  thought  out.  Sitting  cramped  in  my  corner  of 
the  travelling-carriage  or  railway  compartment, 
afraid  even  to  stretch  my  limbs  lest  the  movement 
should  disturb  one  or  other  of  the  invalids,  I  owe  it 
to  my  imagination  alone,  that  child  as  I  was,  I 
did  not  fall  into  hopeless  melancholy. 

It  was  this  same  happy  faculty  of  creating  for 
myself  an  ideal  atmosphere,  and  peopling  this  new 
world  with  my  best-beloved  heroes,  and  the  no  less 
heroic  creations  of  my  own  brain, — this  it  was  which 
lent  so  great  a  charm  to  many  of  our  resorts, — 
standing  us  in  good  stead  for  instance,  in  investing 
with  beauty  the  rather  tame,  stiff  garden  of  a  Lon- 
don square,  so  unsuited  for  the  abode  of  mystery 
or  romance.  Apart  from  our  intimacy  with  the 
Bunsen  family,  our  stay  in  London  possessed  in- 
deed few  attractions  for  us.  There  was  no  relaxa- 
tion of  the  customary  strictness  with  which  we  were 
treated,  on  the  contrary,  there  seemed  to  be  an 
accumulation  of  wearisome  restrictions  and  petty 
annoyances  attendant  on  the  stay  in  strange  houses. 
Even  when  there  was  a  garden,  we  might  hardly 
play  there,  certainly  not  dig  in  it,  nor  run  across 
the  lawn,  and  as  for  venturing  to  gather  a  flower, 
I  was  haunted  by  visions  of  angry  men  pursuing  us 
with  thick  sticks,  ever  since  the  day  when  the  land- 
lord had  shaken  his  finger  at  us,  just  for  touching 
bis  orange-trees!  It  was  a  little  better  in  Hastings, 
where  we  had  the  beautiful  open  sea,  and  the  beach 
on  which  we  could  play  undisturbed.     But  our  pleas- 

128 


BUNSEN 

ure  there  was  damped  by  our  perpetual  anxiety  and 
sadness  on  my  mother's  behalf,  whose  illness  had 
already  entered  then  on  its  most  distressing  stage. 
From  the  window  I  could  see  her  carried  in  and  out 
of  the  sea,  sometimes  alas!  to  lie  in  convulsions  on 
the  beach,  the  servants  standing  round  holding  up 
umbrellas  to  protect  her  from  the  gaze  of  inquisi- 
tive onlookers.  I  stood  sad  and  helpless  at  the 
window,  unable  to  understand  the  unfeeling  curi- 
osity of  these  strangers.  It  was  not  quite  so  bad 
on  their  part  though,  as  the  behaviour  of  two  Ger- 
mans on  the  steamer  that  brought  us  over  from  Os- 
tend,  who  kept  pushing  against  my  mother's  lame 
foot  as  she  sat  on  deck,  and  even  complained  at  her, 
for  taking  up  so  much  room.  It  hurt  her  most  of 
all,  that  it  should  be  her  own  countrymen  who  were 
thus  rude  and  heartless.  Let  us  hope  that  it  was 
merely  sea-sickness  which  made  them  so  inhuman! 
And  the  lady  resembled  them  who,  when  my  mother 
had  dragged  herself  on  her  crutches  to  a  railway- 
carriage  and  was  preparing  to  enter  it,  shut  the 
door  in  her  face,  saying: — "there  is  no  room  here!" 
What  a  contrast  to  the  good  old  bathing-man  at 
Hastings,  who  used  to  carry  her  in  and  out  of  the 
water,  and  was  so  sorry  to  see  how  she  suffered, 
that  he  would  pat  her  cheek  gently,  and  talk  to  her 
as  if  he  were  comforting  a  small  child: — "There, 
there,  poor  dear!  it  will  be  better  soon!" 

That  journey  from  Ostend  belongs  to  the  most 

painful  experiences  of  my  childhood,  it  was  nothing 

but  discomfort  and  sadness,  and  I  shall  never  forget 

the  wailing  of  my  poor  little  baby  brother  Otto,  suf- 

9  129 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

fering  all  night  long  in  one  of  the  frightful  parox- 
ysms of  pain,  for  which  in  vain  relief  was  sought. 
His  devoted  English  nurse,  our  good  Barnes,  sat 
rocking  him  in  her  arms  the  whole  time,  and  every 
now  and  then  she  cast  a  sympathetic  glance  my 
way,  but  she  could  do  nothing  to  help  or  comfort 
me,  she  was  entirely  taken  up  with  her  poor  little 
charge.  Had  there  been  anyone  there  who  could 
have  told  me  a  story  to  distract  my  thoughts,  to  take 
me  for  a  moment  out  of  myself,  and  away  from  the 
unhappiness  which  I  was  helpless  to  console !  How 
often  may  not  some  pretty  well-told  tale,  some  little 
snatch  of  song,  help  a  child  to  forget  the  misery  of 
its  weary  limbs  and  aching  head,  and  soothe  it  to 
sleep. 

One  of  my  best  and  happiest  experiences  belongs 
however  here,  and  must  not  be  forgotten.  It  re- 
lates to  that  very  Fraulein  von  Bunsen,  the  lame 
daughter,  Emilie,  "Aunt  Mim,"  as  we  afterwards 
called  her,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken.  And 
the  incident  was  called  forth  by  some  childish  mis- 
deed of  mine,  one  of  those  trivial  offences  many 
would  deem  scarce  worth  noticing,  but  for  which 
with  us  a  punishment  utterly  disproportionate  to  the 
enormity  of  the  crime  was  invariably  inflicted.  I 
was  thus  on  this  occasion  condemned  to  be  left  be- 
ll ind  alone,  while  the  others  set  off  joyously  in  five 
or  six  carriages  to  spend  a  day  among  the  hop- 
pickers, — a  treat  to  which  I  had  been  looking  for- 
ward for  weeks  past.  As  they  drove  off,  and  I  stood 
watching  them  sadly  from  the  balcony,  seeing  their 
happy  faces  and   listening  to  their  gay  laughter, 

130 


BUNSEN 

feeling  myself  to  be  an  outcast  from  the  paradise 
towards  which  they  were  setting  forth, — it  was  then 
that  the  lame  Fraulein  von  Bunsen,  happening  to 
look  up,  caught  sight  of  me,  and  before  I  could  hide 
myself,  had  waved  her  hand  to  me  with  a  friendly 
smile  that  went  far  to  reconcile  me  with  my  lot 
and  the  world  in  general.  The  greeting,  the  smile, 
fell  on  my  wounded  heart  like  balm.  Up  to  that 
moment  I  had  felt  somewhat  like  a  condemned  crimi- 
nal, fearing  that  I  must  be  looked  down  upon  and 
shunned  by  every  member  of  that  happy  party,  since 
it  was  known  to  them  all  that  I  was  deprived  by  my 
own  fault  of  the  pleasure  of  joining  them.  But  the 
kind  thought,  the  kind  smile,  took  away  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  my  reflections,  and  were  treasured  piously 
in  my  memory.  Years  after,  when  I  reminded  dear 
Aunt  Mim  of  the  occurrence,  I  was  still  more  pleased 
to  hear  from  her  that  my  absence  had  been  much 
regretted,  not  by  her  alone,  but  by  all  the  others, 
on  that  day.  They  were  all  so  sorry  for  me,  she 
said,  and  missed  the  wonderful  stories,  which  I  was 
never  tired  of  telling  on  all  such  excursions.  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  that,  my  best  stories  being 
always  made  up  for  myself  alone,  as  I  lay  in  bed 
in  the  morning,  awake  with  the  birds  and  listening 
to  their  singing,  and  feeling  the  spirit  of  song  just 
as  alive  in  me,  while  the  rest  of  the  house  was  still 
fast  asleep.  I  only  remembered  her  kindness  and 
the  comfort  it  gave  me,  and  until  she  reminded  me 
of  it,  had  never  thought  again  of  that  other  unlucky 
day  on  which  the  wheel  of  the  little  donkey-carriage, 
with  her  mother  and  youngest  sister  sitting  in  it, 

131 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

passed  over  my  foot,  at  which  I  took  care  not  to  cry 
out  or  even  make  a  face,  and  was  only  betrayed 
by  the  torn  condition  of  my  shoe,  which  led  to  my 
being  scolded  and  sent  home  to  have  my  foot  bathed, 
instead  of  being  allowed  to  continue  my  walk. 

What  a  pretty  picture  Fraulein  von  Bunsen  made 
in  those  days  with  her  sweet  expression,  and  pink 
and  white  complexion,  leaning  back  in  her  bath- 
chair  in  her  pink  dress  and  hat  with  pink  roses, 
pink  veil  and  sunshade,  looking  a  very  rosebud  her- 
self !  She  was  like  my  mother  in  this  also,  that  the 
same  treatment  by  which  the  latter  was  restored  to 
health  was  very  effective  in  her  case  too,  and  after 
undergoing  it  she  spent  many  years  in  our  house. 
Very  intelligent,  she  possessed  in  a  high  degree  the 
riper  wisdom  peculiar  to  those  who  have  watched 
from  afar  the  waves  of  life  go  surging  by,  them- 
selves untouched  by  their  tumult.  An  invalid  looks 
on  at  the  spectacle  of  human  existence  with  some- 
thing of  the  aloofness  of  a  recluse,  and  is  able  to 
preserve  the  same  childlike  candour  and  crystalline 
purity  of  soul.  No  passion  had  ever  stirred  the 
depths  of  hers.  It  was  like  a  deep  transparent 
lake,  in  which  earth  and  sky  are  reflected,  clouds 
and  sunshine,  night  and  storm,  and  which  yet  re- 
mains unchanged  through  all.  She  reached  her 
eightieth  year  in  the  same  untroubled  harmony  of 
thought  and  feeling,  her  features  very  little  altered 
by  age,  and  her  voice  as  sweet  and  clear  as  ever. 
Music  was  the  very  centre  of  her  being,  round  which 
her  whole  existence  revolved.  I  played  duets  with 
her  for  hours  together,  learning  to  know  all  the  best 

132 


BUNSEN 

works  of  the  great  classic  composers  so  thoroughly 
and  well,  it  was  as  if  the  glorious  floods  of  melody 
had  passed  into  my  veins,  to  flow  there  mingled  with 
my  blood  for  evermore.  How  often  did  we  thus 
succeed  in  flinging  away  all  sorrow  and  care,  feeling 
our  troubles  ooze  out  at  the  finger-tips,  and  our 
souls  grow  lighter  as  we  played!  All  the  days  of 
my  youth  seem  to  pass  before  me,  whenever  I  hear 
Beethoven's  Symphonies:  certain  of  them, — the  sec- 
ond, and  that  in  C  minor, — represent  for  me,  as  do 
Schubert's  Quartet  and  Mozart's  Symphony  in  G 
minor,  very  special  phases  of  my  existence,  storms 
that  were  laid  to  rest  by  their  potent  spell.  Our 
piano  was  a  very  old  instrument  whose  keys  were 
yellow  with  age,  but  to  us  it  had  the  fulness  of  tone 
of  a  whole  orchestra.  And  to  strengthen  the  illu- 
sion, my  father  would  often  join  us  and  hum  or 
whistle  some  special  passage  as  it  is  written  for  the 
different  instruments,  to  try  to  give  me  some  faint 
idea  of  the  orchestral  effect.  In  our  enthusiasm 
we  had  soon  forgotten  the  limitations  of  the  means 
at  our  command,  above  all  we  forgot  our  own  imper- 
fections, we  felt  the  whole  orchestration,  and  in  the 
grandeur  of  the  conception  the  inadequacy  of  the 
performance  was  quite  swallowed  up.  Is  that  not 
the  best  way  to  enjoy  these  divine  masterpieces,  the 
safest  method  of  interpretation?  It  would  not  suf- 
fice, I  am  well  aware,  for  the  exigencies  of  a  modern 
audience,  incapable  of  drawing  on  the  imagination 
to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  execution.  The  hurry 
and  bustle  of  the  century  leave  no  room  for  the  mod- 
est efforts  of  a  dilettante,  imbued  though  these  may 

133 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

be  with  the  spirit  of  truest  adoration.  Ours  was 
the  purest  hero-worship,  unmixed  with  aught  of  per- 
sonal vanity  or  ambition.  We  simply  thanked  God, 
in  the  fulness  of  our  hearts,  that  He  had  sent  Bee- 
thoven to  enrich  and  beautify  the  world! 

At  other  times  Aunt  Mim  would  sit  quietly  at  work 
in  the  library,  whilst  I  wandered  restlessly  to  and 
fro,  like  a  caged  lion,  as  she  always  said,  telling 
her  all  that  passed  through  my  brain.  It  was  just 
her  unruffled  calm  that  encouraged  me  to  let  loose 
on  her  the  flood-gates  of  my  soul.  Surely  those  hu- 
man beings  come  nearest  perfection,  who  have  pre- 
served through  life  their  angelic  innocence,  and  it 
is  perhaps  to  further  this  that  such  are  often  afflicted 
with  some  bodily  infirmity,  whereby  the  soul  has 
power  to  raise  itself  above  this  earth. 

By  her  perfect  submission  to  the  Divine  Will,  her 
firm  faith  which  no  doubt  had  ever  clouded,  no  less 
than  by  her  unswerving  fidelity  in  friendship,  and 
the  cheerful,  sunny  temperament  that  had  in  it  some- 
thing of  the  playfulness  and  simplicity  of  a  child, 
Aunt  Mim  was  the  pearl  of  her  whole  family  and 
became  invaluable  and  indispensable  to  ours.  In 
those  hours  of  greatest  suffering,  when  words  of 
good  cheer  could  no  more  avail,  then  her  quiet  sym- 
pathy would  yet  often  find  means  of  making  life  a 
little  more  endurable  to  the  poor  sick  child,  of  dis- 
tracting my  father's  thoughts  from  present  sadness. 
Only  one  so  utterly  detached  from  all  thought  of  self 
could  have  refreshed  and  lightened  that  atmosphere 
of  gloom.  Ho  heavily  did  it  press  at  times  on  my 
childish  mind,  and  so  thoroughly  had  my  mother 

134 


BUNSEN 

inculcated  the  belief  in  death  as  the  supreme  good 
to  be  wished  and  desired  by  us  all,  as  the  sole  release 
from  pain  and  suffering  for  ourselves  and  others, 
that  during  the  weeks  in  which,  after  my  brother 
Otto's  birth,  she  lay  between  life  and  death,  my 
governess  often  heard  me  praying  that  God  would 
take  her  to  Himself!  It  caused  some  perplexity,  I 
believe,  to  her  who  overheard  this  singular  prayer, 
to  hit  on  the  right  method  of  bringing  me  to  desist 
from  it,  without  disturbing  the  effect  of  the  maternal 
teaching,  and  she  wisely  contented  herself  with  tell- 
ing me  that  although  it  would  doubtless  be  for 
Mamma's  happiness  to  go  to  heaven,  I  need  not  ask 
for  this,  as  God  would  take  her  to  Himself  in  His 
own  good  time,  and  that  moreover  I  should  then  see 
her  no  more.  I  was  very  much  astonished  at  this, 
never  having  for  a  moment  contemplated  the  possi- 
bility of  being  deprived  of  my  mother's  presence 
by  death.  My  idea  of  heaven  was  of  something 
so  real  and  near,  that  whenever  I  gazed  up  into  the 
blue  sky,  I  felt  sure  that  were  my  beloved  ones 
there,  I  might  at  any  moment  see  a  little  window 
opening  to  let  me  through  to  join  them!  Well  is  it 
with  ufc  if  we  can  keep  this  belief  through  life,  if 
like  children,  who  have  left  their  heavenly  home  too 
recently  to  accustom  themselves  to  this  earth,  and 
could  depart  again  from  it  without  a  pang,  we  can 
but  bear  in  mind  during  the  whole  course  of  our 
dreary  pilgrimage,  that  we  have  here  no  abiding 
place,  and  keep  our  hopes  fixed  on  the  life  beyond! 
If  I  appear  to  dwell  overmuch  on  my  inner  life  in 
childhood,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  other  children,  many 

135 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

of  whom  are  perhaps  as  liable  to  be  misunderstood 
as  I  was  myself.  Who  was  there,  of  the  grown-up 
people  around  me,  who  could  ever  guess  what  was 
really  passing  in  my  mind?  Taught  that  it  was  my 
duty  to  enliven  and  gladden  others,  I  had  schooled 
my  face  to  an  expression  of  perpetual  cheerfulness, 
and  should  have  considered  myself  eternally  dis- 
graced, had  anyone  ever  surprised  me  in  tears.  It 
is  only  by  the  utmost  kindness  and  tenderness,  that 
we  can  hope  to  win  the  confidence  of  a  proud  and 
sensitive  child,  and  break  down  the  wall  of  reserve 
behind  which  it  early  learns  to  intrench  itself. 

Among  the  many  agreeable  recollections  I  retain 
of  the  house  in  Carlton  Terrace,  that  of  the  entrance 
and  staircase  is  especially  vivid,  both  being  carpeted, 
as  was  the  passage  leading  to  the  rooms  above,  with 
soft  green  felt,  while  book-shelves  lined  every  avail- 
able space  along  the  walls.  Such  a  friendly,  home- 
like impression  was  thus  at  once  created,  intensified 
by  the  habit  of  making  of  the  entrance-hall,  on  which 
the  doors  of  all  the  rooms  opened,  a  favourite  resort 
for  reading  or  conversation.  That  green  carpeting, 
of  just  the  tint  of  the  green  baize  of  a  billiard-table, 
on  which  one's  eyes  rested  with  so  much  pleasure, 
was  no  less  agreeable  to  the  ears,  every  sound  being 
deadened,  and  the  wheeled  chairs  of  the  invalids 
passing  over  it  quite  noiselessly. 

Under  Bunsen's  auspices,  a  literary  society  was 
founded  in  Bonn,  whose  members — generally  under 
pseudonyms — submitted  their  work  for  his  approval. 
Among  the  translators,  my  mother  distinguished 
herself  by  a  version  of  the  magnificent  Paternoster 

136 


BUNSEN 

in  Dante's  Purgatorio,  and  another  of  Longfellow's 
Song  of  the  Old  Clock,  with  its  mournful  refrain — 
' '  Forever — never, — never — forever ! ' ' 

Needless  to  say,  though  it  is  perhaps  the  proper 
place  to  insist  upon  it  here,  that  I  cannot  pretend  to 
describe  the  persons  I  have  known,  otherwise  than 
just  as  they  appeared  to  me  at  the  time  itself,  these 
reminiscences  being  but  the  faithful  transcription  of 
the  impressions  received  at  different  periods  of  my 
life,  starting  from  my  earliest  childhood.  Not  for 
one  moment  can  I  profess  to  have  been  competent  at 
the  early  age  that  then  was  mine,  to  form  a  correct 
idea  of  Bunsen's  literary  merits.  Of  his  books,  the 
''Signs  of  the  Times"  and  others,  the  titles  were 
all  that  was  known  to  me,  but  my  respect  for  the 
career  of  letters  was  innate  and  unbounded,  and  the 
fact  that  he  was  an  author  impressed  me  immensely. 
Sometimes  I  have  vaguely  wondered  since,  whether 
with  him  intellectual  brilliancy  in  the  best  meaning 
of  the  word  may  not  have  outweighed  depth  of 
thought.  But  this  is  a  mere  conjecture,  on  which 
it  would  be  unfair  to  base  a  judgment.  One  talent, 
that  was  indisputably  his,  and  which  since  I  have 
been  able  rightly  to  appreciate  it  I  have  often  envied 
him,  was  Bunsen's  marvellous  facility  for  skimming 
through  a  book,  and  acquiring  by  that  rapid  survey 
a  sufficient  knowledge  of  its  contents,  to  be  able  to 
discuss  it  afterwards,  most  minutely  in  all  par- 
ticulars with  the  author,  as  if  he  had  read  every 
word  of  it! 

Another  gift,  which  is  sometimes  denied  to  people 
of  commanding  intellect,  but  which  invariably  ren- 

137 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

ders  its  possessor  beloved,  was  also  his  in  a  supreme 
degree:  the  aptitude  for  drawing  out  all  that  was 
best  and  worthiest  of  notice  in  others,  of  making 
those  around  him  feel,  as  if  it  were  not  merely  Ms 
wit  alone,  but  theirs  also  that  made  the  conversation 
brilliant.  A  rare  gift  indeed!  For  all  will  agree, 
that  pleasant  as  it  is  to  be  in  the  society  of  clever 
people,  pleasantest  of  all  is  to  have  to  do  with  those, 
who  make  us  feel  cleverer  ourselves  while  we  talk 
to  them! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PERTHES 

Our  stay  in  Bonn  was,  as  I  have  already  pointed 
out,  enriched  by  the  intercourse  into  which  we  were 
thrown  with  many  clever  and  interesting  people, 
some  of  whom  became  true  and  trusted  friends. 
Thus  it  happened  that  in  a  peculiarly  dark  and 
trying  hour,  we  found  in  Clement  Perthes  the  best 
and  wisest  counsellor,  an  unfailing  source  of  help 
and  comfort.  It  was  to  his  special  care  that  my 
father  had  confided  us  all,  when  he  set  out  on  that 
ill-advised  journey  in  pursuit  of  health,  from  which 
he  was  only  to  return  far  more  seriously  ill  than 
before.  The  doctors  counted  on  the  complete 
change,  on  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  travel, 
above  all  on  his  withdrawal  from  depressing  sur- 
roundings, on  his  being  for  a  time  removed  from  the 
sad  spectacle  of  daily  suffering  in  his  own  house- 
hold, as  the  best  means  of  insuring  his  complete 
recovery.  It  was  a  well-meant,  and  carefully  de- 
bated plan ;  but  like  many  another  issue  of  mere  hu- 
man wisdom,  was  not  justified  by  events.  How- 
ever, after  long  deliberation  and  with  many  misgiv- 
ings, my  father  was  prevailed  on  to  agree  to  the 
separation  from  wife  and  children  for  a  whole  year, 
setting  out  for  America,  accompanied  by  his  young 
brother-in-law,  Nicholas  of  Nassau.  Brave  as 
everyone  struggled  to  be  at  parting,  it  was  a  most 
frightful  wrench,  and  I  remember  seeing  the  tears 

139 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

stream  from  my  mother's  eyes,  directly  she  fancied 
herself  unobserved.  From  that  moment,  it  was  on 
Perthes  that  devolved  the  task  of  cheering  the 
anxious  hearts  and  raising  the  sinking  spirits  of 
those  who  had  stayed  behind.  And  well  and  wisely 
did  he  set  to  work.  Not  merely  with  his  practical 
good  sense  and  strong  understanding,  but  above  all 
according  to  the  dictates  of  his  good  heart  and  warm 
human  sympathies,  did  he  fulfil  the  mission  confided 
to  him,  and  his  kindness  and  tact,  more  even  than 
his  cleverness  and  knowledge,  have  the  first  claim 
on  our  gratitude. 

There  was  something  exhilarating  in  the  good 
humour  that  pervaded  the  whole  person  of  Clement 
Perthes,  a  youthful,  almost  boyish  love  of  mischief 
and  fun,  that  was  not  belied  by  the  expression  of  his 
eyes,  narrow  and  obliquely  set  in  the  head,  giving 
him  somewhat  of  a  Japanese  cast  of  countenance. 
This  fantastic  appearance  was  increased  by  the 
strange  fold  or  wrinkle  beneath  the  eyes,  deepening 
as  he  laughed  and  joked,  while  another  line  above 
the  eyebrows  seemed  to  impart  a  softer,  almost 
feminine  touch  to  the  face,  that  was,  however,  neu- 
tralised by  the  determined  expression  of  the  thin 
lips.  Everything  seemed  to  furnish  him  with  mat- 
ter for  a  jest,  and  he  used  to  call  me  the  "hundred- 
and-first,"  insisting  upon  it  that  out  of  a  hundred 
other  little  girls  of  my  age,  not  one  could  be  found 
who  was  the  least  like  myself. 

His  children  were  our  dearest  playfellows.  There 
were  four  sons  and  only  one  daughter,  all  of  them 
good  and  amiable  like  their  mother  and  himself, 

140 


H.M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 


PERTHES 

but  all  of  them  dying  young,  to  the  unspeakable  grief 
of  the  poor  parents.  It  was  hard  indeed  for  them, 
to  see  their  darlings  go  from  them  to  the  grave  so 
young,  but  for  these,  for  the  children  themselves, 
must  they  not  afterwards  often  have  blessed  heaven 
in  their  hearts,  that  they  should  have  been  spared 
the  misery  inevitable  to  a  longer  sojourn  on  earth ! 
The  sons  came  often  to  us,  and  shared  my  brother's 
games,  but  he  could  not  join  them  at  their  studies, 
as  they  were  so  much  older  than  himself  and  natu- 
rally much  more  advanced.  A  little  companion  was 
found,  the  son  of  Professor  Dorner,  to  learn  Latin 
with  him,  but  he  also  was  older  and  had  the  start, 
my  brother  being  only  just  seven,  rather  young  per- 
haps for  such  serious  studies.  It  is  true  that  Otto 
was  able  to  begin  Greek  when  he  was  seven,  but  then 
he  was  altogether  exceptional,  having  a  love  of 
study,  in  addition  to  his  excellent  abilities.  Besides 
the  sister  of  the  young  Perthes,  I  had  another 
favourite  companion  in  a  daughter  of  Professor  Sell, 
a  young  girl  so  versed  in  the  Rhineland  folk-lore,  she 
had  an  unfailing  supply  of  the  most  delightful  tales 
and  legends,  all  of  which  were  instantly  turned  into 
impromptu  plays,  and  acted  by  us  with  the  greatest 
spirit  and  zest. 

Nor  was  that  special  form  of  amusement  confined 
to  our  school-room  and  our  play  hours;  amateur 
theatricals  of  a  more  ambitious  kind  were  a  constant 
source  of  entertainment  at  the  Vinea  Domini,  and 
afforded  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  some 
rather  remarkable  talent.  In  the  first  place  there 
was  my  mother  herself,  an  admirable  performer, 

141 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  at  the  same  time  the  most  severe,  most  merci- 
less of  stage-managers.  She  would  think  nothing 
of  having  a  scene  rehearsed  sixty  times,  till  it  went 
to  her  satisfaction.  She  was  admirably  seconded  by 
the  bevy  of  charming  young  girls  that  gathered 
round  her — her  own  younger  sisters,  her  niece  of 
Solms-Laubach,  the  daughter  of  an  intimate  friend, 
the  diplomatist,  Heinrich  von  Arnim,  and  the  two 
sisters  von  Preen,  of  whom  the  one  was  her  own  and 
the  other  her  step-mother's  lady-in-waiting.  All 
these  thronged,  happy  and  light-hearted,  round  my 
mother,  vying  with  one  another  in  the  effort  to  win 
her  approbation.  Sometimes  there  were  most  amus- 
ing scenes,  that  were  not  played  on  the  mimic  stage, 
as  for  instance  that  which  I  myself  witnessed,  of  my 
cousin  and  Else  Arnim  sitting  on  the  floor,  one 
on  each  side  of  my  mother's  chair,  disputing  till 
they  cried,  as  to  which  of  them  loved  her  best !  And 
my  mother  cried  too,  with  laughter !  But  whatever 
her  own  mood,  well  or  ill  herself,  she  never  relaxed 
her  efforts  to  provide  wholesome  and  interesting 
entertainment  for  all  these  young  people,  and  in 
everything  she  undertook  Perthes  was  the  most 
efficient  auxiliary,  as  well  as  the  surest  adviser  in 
any  dilemma.  Himself  a  professor  at  the  univer- 
sity and  resident  in  Bonn  for  many  years,  he  was 
well  acquainted  with  every  section  of  society,  and 
none  could  have  been  more  competent  than  he,  to 
;i<l\isc  her  as  to  the  selection  of  the  elements  from 
which  her  own  circle  should  be  composed.  It  was 
her  desire  to  admit  to  her  house  every  one  posses- 
sing any  claim  to  personal  distinction,  above  all  to 

142 


PERTHES 

pre-eminence  in  the  world  of  science,  of  letters  and 
art.  Among  the  younger  men,  those  who  were  at 
that  time  studying  at  the  university,  how  many  there 
were  who  have  since  played  a  conspicuous  part  in 
the  drama  of  European  history!  For  the  moment 
they  were  content  to  display  their  talents  in  the 
little  theatre  of  the  Vinea  Domini.  The  drawing- 
room  was  divided,  the  one-half  being  converted  into 
a  stage,  while  in  the  other  sat  an  audience  composed 
in  great  part  of  scholars  of  note,  all  the  learned 
dons  and  doctors  of  the  university, — no  mean  tri- 
bunal certainly  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  perform- 
ance. The  actors  had,  however,  little  to  fear  even 
if  judged  by  the  most  exacting  standard,  the  histri- 
onic ability  of  some  of  these  young  people  being  of 
a  very  high  order,  and  they  were  well  drilled  in 
their  parts,  and  the  rehearsals  superintended  by 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  until  everything  reached 
an  unwonted  pitch  of  perfection.  In  the  pretty 
comedy  of  the  " King's  Lieutenant"  the  leading  part 
was  played  by  George  Bunsen  in  a  style  that  left 
no  room  for  criticism.  Years  after  I  saw  the 
famous  actor,  Haase,  as  Thorane,  but  I  cannot  see 
that  the  professional  comedian  in  any  way  excelled 
the  amateur  in  the  part.  That  of  Goethe,  the  youth- 
ful Goethe,  in  the  same  play,  was  taken  by  Prince 
Reuss,  who  looked  the  sixteen-year-old  poet  to  the 
life,  and  the  parents  were  impersonated  by  Prince 
Frederick  William  of  Prussia  as  Privy-Councillor 
Goethe  and  Fraulein  von  Preen  as  the  majestic 
Privy-Couneilloress.  The  future  Emperor  Freder- 
ick was  just  a  little  stiff  in  his  acting,  hence  the 

143 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

staid  part  of  the  elderly  man  had  been  given  him, 
but  all  played  delightfully,  the  younger  Fraulein 
von  Preen  also  making  a  most  successful  entrance 
as  the  girl  who  runs  in  with  her  market  basket  on 
her  arm.  Some  evenings  only  charades  were  repre- 
sented, and  on  others  tableaux  vivants,  in  both  of 
which  the  commanding  officer  of  the  Hussars,  Count 
Oriola,  a  remarkably  handsome  man,  was  generally 
the  most  striking  figure.  I  remember  how  splendid 
he  looked  as  a  brigand-chief,  with  one  of  my  young 
aunts,  afterwards  Princess  Waldeck,  as  his  wife. 
He  had  married  one  of  the  daughters  of  Bettina  von 
Arnim,  but  it  is  in  some  cases  little  more  than  a 
name  or  the  vague  outline  of  some  person  seen  in 
my  mother's  drawing-room  that  I  can  call  to  mind. 
It  may  even  appear  surprising,  that  I  should  remem- 
ber so  much,  as  I  was  only  eight  years  old  at  the 
time  I  speak  of,  but  my  recollections  do  in  truth  go 
much  further  back,  as  the  following  incident  will 
show: 

It  concerns  the  departure  of  my  little  brother's 
wet-nurse,  which  took  place  when  I  could  not  have 
been  more  than  two  years  and  a  half  old.  She  was 
so  unhappy  at  leaving,  and  wept  so  bitterly  while 
being  shown  the  big  pile  of  house-linen  which  my 
mother  gave  her  as  a  present,  I  thought  I  would 
find  something  better  to  console  her,  and  rushing  off 
to  the  nursery,  I  returned  with  one  of  my  dearest 
possessions,  a  little  doll's  tea-kettle,  which  I  tried 
to  thrust  into  her  hand.  I  can  see  distinctly  her 
look  of  amazement,  as  she  smiled  through  her  tears, 
and  hear  the  tone  of  my  mother's  voice,  saying, — 

144 


PERTHES 

"But  what  good  can  that  be  to  her?"  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  had  a  bucket  of  cold  water  thrown  over  me, 
and  I  turned  away  with  my  treasure,  disappointed 
and  mortified  at  the  fruitlessness  of  my  good  inten- 
tions. So  I  kept  my  poor  little  tea-kettle,  and  in 
course  of  time  my  own  child  played  with  it,  as  with 
many  of  my  dolls  and  other  playthings,  with  such 
affection  had  they  been  preserved.  I  may  surely 
claim  to  have  ever  shown  fidelity  to  the  past,  and  as 
for  my  memory,  I  might  liken  it  to  lava,  on  which 
every  impression  from  without,  stamping  itself  at 
white-heat,  is  indelibly  engraven  for  all  time. 

How  well  I  remember  the  melancholy  Christmas 
we  spent  that  year  in  Bonn  without  my  father,  his 
absence  taking  all  the  joy  out  of  the  festival,  in  spite 
of  my  mother's  efforts  to  prevent  the  happiness  of 
others  being  dimmed  by  her  own  sadness.  It  was 
the  very  moment  when  the  American  mail  was  due, 
and  on  Christmas  Eve  we  waited  and  waited,  every- 
one hoping  that  at  least  the  amount  of  gladness  a 
letter  could  give  might  still  be  hers.  And  the  last 
post  did  bring  the  expected  missives,  the  well-known 
thin,  pale  blue  envelopes,  which  Fraulein  von  Preen 
quickly  tied  on  with  red  ribbons  to  the  Christmas- 
tree.  But  at  the  sight  of  the  handwriting  my  mother 
fairly  broke  down,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she 
had  recovered  her  composure  sufficiently  to  collect, 
as  was  her  habit,  the  whole  household,  children, 
friends,  and  the  old  servants  round  her,  to  listen 
with  rapt  attention  to  the  interesting  description 
of  scenes  in  the  New  World  which  those  pages  con- 
tained. 

10  145 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Simple  as  it  might  at  first  sight  appear,  there  is 
perhaps  nothing  so  difficult  as  clearly  to  convey  by 
words  a  picture  of  any  human  existence.  Difficult 
enough  it  must  be  in  any  case,  oneself  to  gain  a  clear 
conception  of  the  real  person,  but  how  much  more 
so  to  make  the  written  portrait  a  true  likeness.  So 
indomitable  was  my  mother's  courage,  so  thoroughly 
did  the  natural  elasticity  of  her  temperament  en- 
able her  to  rise  superior  to  every  trial,  many  of  her 
acquaintance  might  well  see  in  her  only  the  charm- 
ing, clever  and  accomplished  woman,  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  brilliant  society  she  loved  to  gather  round 
her,  and  which  her  own  personality  seemed  so  hap- 
pily fitted  to  lead  and  dominate.  But  there  was 
another,  sadder  side  to  her  existence,  no  less  real 
for  being  revealed  alone  to  the  members  of  her 
family  and  more  intimate  friends. 

Exercising  the  same  powers  of  attraction  alike  on 
young  and  old,  and  in  her  own  person  combining  the 
keenest  interest  in  every  intellectual  problem  with 
a  remarkable  capacity  for  entering  into  any  form 
of  innocent  mirth,  the  young  mistress  of  the  Vinea 
Domini  was  able  to  control  and  blend  the  different 
elements  of  her  little  society,  to  a  harmony  complete 
and  pleasing  to  all.  Representative  men  in  science 
and  art,  in  literature  and  politics,  met  there  to  dis- 
cuss topics  of  gravest  import;  every  talent  found 
welcome  recognition.  What  pretty  water-colour 
sketches  were  made  by  the  young  Prince  Reuss, 
whose  long  and  eventful  diplomatic  career  none  yet 
foresaw!  When,  later  on,  I  came  across  the  draw- 
ings he  had  made  of  us  children,  I  had  a  surprise 

146 


PERTHES 

similar  to  that  told  in  a  preceding  chapter,  to  see 
the  melancholy  expression  I  wore,  but  was  assured 
by  my  mother  that  I  did  indeed  often  look  thus.  I 
struggled  so  perpetually  to  appear  cheerful,  I  could 
hardly  believe  that  anyone  could  have  seen  me  look- 
ing sad;  we  keep  count  of  the  efforts  we  make,  but 
cannot  judge  of  the  results  we  achieve.  Of  the 
Shakespeare  readings,  and  lectures  upon  Shake- 
speare, given  by  Professor  Lobell  at  our  house,  I  can 
only  speak  from  hearsay,  for  I  was  not  present,  but 
all  the  hearers  pronounced  them  admirable,  and  I 
was  sorry  to  be  excluded,  my  curiosity  being  stimu- 
lated by  the  passages  my  mother  had  read  to  me 
from  some  of  the  plays,  and  I  had  wept  bitterly  over 
the  pathetic  scenes  concerning  poor  little  Prince 
Arthur.  I  was,  however,  sometimes  allowed  to  make 
one  of  the  party  in  the  excursions  down  the  Rhine, 
and  I  listened,  now  with  delight  to  the  melodious 
part-songs,  now  wondering,  and  storing  up  in  my 
mind  fragments  of  the  animated  discourse — on  every 
subject,  it  seemed  to  me,  of  highest  interest  in 
heaven  or  earth — with  which  the  boat's  joyous  pas- 
sengers filled  up  the  intervals  of  their  singing.  To 
draw  others  into  conversation  and  lead  them  to  im- 
part their  deepest  thoughts,  was  one  of  my  mother's 
special  gifts.  Young  as  she  was,  her  mind  had  been 
early  matured  by  sorrow,  and  she  could  associate 
herself  as  easily  with  the  aims  and  aspirations  of 
artists  and  scholars  as  with  the  plans  of  statesmen 
and  politicians.  The  speculative  curiosity  of  men 
of  science  ever  had  a  peculiar  fascination  for  her, 
and  she  was  no  less  receptive  for  schemes  of  benevo- 

147 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

lence  and  philanthropy.  All  phases  of  contem- 
porary thought,  all  shades  of  opinion,  were  repre- 
sented in  her  drawing-room,  together  with  the  harm- 
less mirth,  the  love  of  amusement  of  the  junior 
portion  of  the  assembly.  Never,  however,  in  their 
moments  of  most  reckless  high  spirits,  did  any  of 
these  young  folk  overstep  the  bounds  of  the  strictest 
decorum  and  good  taste.  Had  there  been  any  such 
danger,  a  word,  a  look  from  my  mother — nay,  the 
mere  presence  of  my  grandmother,  in  her  quiet 
stately  dignity,  would  have  sufficed  to  call  the 
offender  to  order.  The  power  can  scarcely  be 
over-rated,  which  well-bred  and  high-minded  women 
may  exercise  over  their  surroundings.  Nor  had  it 
yet  been  admitted  as  a  possibility  in  good  society, 
for  young  men  to  allow  themselves  to  take  the  liber- 
ties of  which  in  a  modern  drawing-room,  they  are 
too  often  guilty  towards  their  hostesses.  Once,  on 
a  lovely  summer's  night,  two  or  three  scions  of 
princely  houses  among  the  students  took  it  into 
their  heads  to  serenade  my  mother  from  the  river; 
but  when  next  day,  to  their  timid  enquiry  how  she 
had  liked  the  music,  they  received  the  chilling  reply 
that  she  had  certainly  heard  a  noise,  but  thought  it 
must  be  some  drunken  people  returning  home,  their 
crestfallen  looks  showed  that  they  would  not  venture 
to  repeat  the  experiment. 

In  this  light  then,  of  the  woman  of  varied  interests 
and  far-reaching  influence  did  my  mother  appear  to 
the  world  at  large.  It  was  reserved  for  her  inti- 
mates, for  her  children  and  attendants,  to  see  her  in 
the  hours  of  despondency,  racked  with  pain,  and  tor- 

148 


PERTHES 

tured  still  more  by  the  gravest  fears  for  the  safety 
of  her  distant  husband  and  of  the  child  whose  life 
seemed  ever  but  to  hang  upon  a  thread.  To  those 
who  knew  of  her  sleepless  nights,  of  her  own  bodily 
sufferings,  and  anxiety  on  behalf  of  others,  she 
might  well  appear  rather  under  the  aspect  of  a 
martyr,  bowed  down  by  a  load  of  physical  and 
mental  anguish,  that  must  in  time  wear  out  her 
powers  of  resistance.  She  believed  herself  con- 
stantly to  be  at  the  point  of  death,  and  those  around 
her  often  shared  her  fears. — "Let  yourself  cry,  you 
have  only  too  good  reason  for  your  tears ! ' '  was  all 
our  good  old  doctor  could  find  to  say  to  her  by  way 
of  comfort,  one  day  when  he  surprised  her  sobbing 
in  despair. 

In  every  emergency,  whether  he  were  called  upon 
for  practical  advice,  or  simply  to  cheer  and  console 
when  the  cloud  of  sorrow  seemed  well-nigh  over- 
powering, Perthes  proved  himself,  as  my  father  had 
foreseen,  the  kindest  and  most  invaluable  of  friends. 
Even  friendship,  however,  was  powerless  to  soften 
the  blow,  when  after  the  long  separation,  the  months 
of  weary  waiting  and  intense  anxiety,  the  travellers 
returned,  for  it  but  to  become  evident  to  my  mother 
at  the  first  glance  at  my  father's  pale  face  and 
wasted  form,  that  the  good  results  hoped  for  from 
the  voyage  were  far  from  being  realised.  It  seemed 
indeed  at  first  sight  to  have  only  done  him  harm, 
for  he  was  thinner  than  ever,  with  hollow  cheeks 
and  sunken  eyes,  suffering  moreover  from  tempo- 
rary surdity,  after-effect  of  an  acute  attack  of  in- 
flammation of  the  ear,  by  which  he  had  been  laid  up 

140 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

at  New  Orleans.  To  him  the  shock,  the  disappoint- 
ment can  have  been  no  less  severe,  to  find  poor  little 
Otto 's  condition  so  much  worse,  whilst  my  mother 's 
state  of  health  seemed  also  well  nigh  past  hope.  It 
was  a  melancholy  return  home.  As  the  travellers 
approached  the  porch,  towards  which  my  mother's 
chair  had  been  wheeled  to  meet  them,  the  shouts  of 
welcome  sent  up  by  the  men-servants  assembled  on 
the  steps,  the  waving  of  their  plumed  caps  in  the  air 
at  their  master's  approach,  all  this  semblance  of 
rejoicing  died  away  in  a  general  feeling  of  conster- 
nation, in  the  mute  exchange  of  glances  of  dismay, 
in  the  unspoken  dread  of  that  which  should  come 
next. 

Had  we  but  known  then,  in  that  darkest,  saddest 
hour,  that  help  was  already  at  hand,  standing  there 
ready  to  cross  the  threshold,  when  the  need  should 
be  greatest! 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  FAITH-HEALER 

It  was  in  those  days  that  there  suddenly  came 
wafted  to  us  across  the  ocean  the  tidings  of  a  won- 
drous discovery,  a  strange  new  pursuit  for  pastime, 
— I  scarce  know  what  to  call  it, — a  new  method  of 
healing  and  new  branch  of  scientific  research,  some 
would  say,  though  certainly  in  this  last  particular 
it  has  not  yet  justified  its  claims  to  be  admitted  to 
rank  as  a  science,  but  has  like  that  other  dark  mys- 
terious agent,  electricity,  of  which  we  also  know  so 
little,  to  this  day  advanced  but  little  beyond  the 
infantile  stage.  Animal  magnetism,  table-turning, 
spirit-rapping,  thought-reading  and  psychography, 
each  and  all  of  these  names  have  been  used  in  turn 
to  designate  the  various  manifestations  of  this 
hitherto  unknown,  or  it  may  be  merely  neglected 
and  forgotten  force. 

Now  with  regard  to  the  phenomena  I  am  about 
to  describe,  there  could  perhaps  scarce  be  a  more 
accurate  and  trustworthy  witness  than  a  child  of 
nine  years,  absolutely  healthy  in  mind  and  body, 
and  bringing  the  quick  observation  and  clear  un- 
troubled gaze  of  childhood  to  bear  on  these  strange 
occurrences,  without  preconceived  leanings  towards 
belief  or  doubt,  and  even  probably  with  a  little  less 
curiosity  than  might  have  belonged  to  one  a  few 
years  older.  To  so  young  a  child,  the  whole  world 
is  a  subject  of  perpetual  awe  and  wonder,  nearly 

151 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

every  incident  in  its  daily  experience  being  start- 
ling and  inexplicable,  yet  all  accepted  alike  in  the 
same  spirit  of  implicit  good  faith.  Was  there  then 
after  all,  in  these  new  occurrences  that  set  everyone 
talking,  anything  so  much  more  wonderful  than  in 
a  hundred  others  with  which  we  were  already  famil- 
iar? Were  we  not  acquainted  with  the  miracle  of 
the  caterpillar's  metamorphosis  to  the  butterfly,  of 
the  transformation  of  the  blossom  into  fruit?  And 
could  there  be  anything  at  once  more  natural  and 
more  terrible  than  those  frightful  spasms  that 
racked  my  mother's  whole  frame,  paralysing  every 
movement  of  her  limbs?  That  this  never  struck  us 
as  anything  unusual  or  uncommon  was  shown  by  my 
answer  to  another  little  girl,  who  had  asked  me  to 
suggest  a  new  game. — "Let  us  play  at  being  mother 
and  child, "  I  promptly  replied,  "and  you  shall  be 
the  mother,  and  must  sit  still  in  this  chair,  as  you 
cannot  walk  about."  And  I  was  honestly  surprised 
both  at  my  little  companion's  astonishment  and  also 
to  hear  my  mother's  voice  calling  to  me  from  the 
next  room,  enquiring  if  I  thought  that  a  nice  sort 
of  game,  to  be  making  fun  of  my  mother 's  ill-health  ? 
I  was  dreadfully  discomfited,  but  I  had  meant  no 
harm  at  all,  it  simply  arose  from  the  impossibility 
of  dissociating  in  my  own  mind  the  idea  of  one's 
mother  from  that  of  being  lame.  I  had  seen  too 
how  completely  medical  science  had  been  at  fault, 
just  with  those  of  my  own  family  who  had  been 
obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  doctors'  skill,  one 
celebrated  practitioner  after  another  having  tried 
in  vain  to  bring  about  some  improvement  in  my 

152 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

father's  health,  or  to  find  out  a  course  of  treatment 
that  should  alleviate  my  mother's  sufferings,  and 
bring  some  relief  to  the  constant  pain  that  made 
my  younger  brother's  life  a  martyrdom.  It  was 
perhaps  the  reiterated  failure  of  any  of  the  old 
recognised  methods  to  work  a  cure,  that  rendered 
us  all  quite  free  from  prejudice  against  the  preten- 
sions of  outsiders,  and  hearing  so  much  said  of 
the  wonderful  cures  wrought  by  magnetism,  I  felt 
no  surprise  when  I  learnt  that  it  was  to  be  tried  in 
my  mother's  case.  Soon  the  professional  mag- 
netiser  appeared  upon  the  scene,  in  the  person  of  a 
very  stout  Englishwoman  with  beady  black  eyes,  to 
whom  my  brothers  and  I  immediately  took  an  in- 
tense dislike,  on  account  of  her  appearance  and  her 
very  disagreeable  manner  towards  us.  Her  skill 
did  procure  for  my  mother  a  little  of  the  rest  she 
stood  so  much  in  need  of,  as  the  operator  could  by 
means  of  the  magnetic  passes,  or  even  by  merely 
laying  her  hand  on  the  patient's  forehead,  send  her 
for  hours  into  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  she  could 
not  awake  of  her  own  accord.  But  the  fact  that  the 
magnetiser  had,  as  she  boasted,  herself  brought 
fifteen  children  into  the  world,  had  not  apparently 
imbued  her  with  very  tender  feelings  towards  chil- 
dren in  general,  and  the  influence  she  was  not  slow 
in  acquiring  over  her  patient  she  so  thoroughly 
abused  in  tyrannising  over  us,  that  we  three  cor- 
dially detested  her,  and  were  thankful  when  a  too 
glaring  usurpation  of  authority  led  to  her  summary 
dismissal.  Her  brief  stay  in  our  midst  had,  how- 
ever, awakened  among  us  all  the  desire  to  ascertain 

153 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRIxNE 

by  similar  experiments,  what  latent  magnetic  power 
might  possibly  reside  in  some  of  ns,  and  it  was 
very  soon  shown  that  my  uncle,  Nicholas  of  Nassau, 
was  possessed  of  a  quite  exceptional  degree  of  the 
mesmeric  or  hypnotic  force,  which  he,  a  lively, 
thoughtless  youth  of  twenty,  did  not  scruple  to  use 
for  all  sorts  of  practical  jokes.  A  favourite  one 
was  to  prevent  his  sister's  governess  from  getting 
up  out  of  her  chair ;  do  what  she  would,  she  was  as 
if  nailed  down  to  it  whenever  he  chose  to  forbid 
her  to  rise,  and  he  would  even  sometimes  mount 
his  horse  and  ride  away  for  a  couple  of  hours,  deaf 
to  the  entreaties  and  adjurations  of  his  victim.  An- 
other time  he  ordered  her  to  put  out  her  tongue,  in 
the  midst  of  a  ceremonious  Court  dinner,  and  almost' 
crying  with  indignation,  she  was  forced  to  obey. 
His  sisters  found  it  equally  impossible  to  disobey 
whatever  extravagant  commands  he  might  lay  on 
them,  such  as  forcing  my  mother  to  stand  still  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  whilst  he  threatened  to  aim  a  heavy 
blow  at  it  with  his  riding-whip.  Such  displays  of 
his  extraordinary  and  inexplicable  powers  afforded 
great  amusement  to  himself  and  others,  above  all 
to  the  child  spectators,  who  laughed  heartily  to  see 
their  elders  for  once  reduced  to  such  submissiveness. 
It  was  therefore  a  sad  disappointment  to  us  when, 
in  consequence  of  the  fits  of  hysterics  into  which 
one  or  two  ladies  had  been  thrown  by  some  of  my 
uncle's  pranks,  he  was  obliged  to  desist  from  them. 
We  little  ones  had  enjoyed  them  the  more,  that  he 
never  tried  them  on  us,  from  whom  it  would  indeed 
have  been  superfluous  to  exact  obedience  in  this 

154 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

fashion,  trained  as  we  were  to  carry  out  unquestion- 
ingly  and  with  military  promptness  and  exactitude, 
whatever  orders  were  given  us.  For  this  was  in  the 
old  days,  when  it  seemed  to  be  a  recognised  thing, 
that  children  had  come  into  the  world  just  to  do 
what  they  were  told,  and  learn  whatever  was  taught 
them!  Nobody  thought  of  asking  them  if  they 
found  it  a  tedious  restraint  to  behave  properly,  nor 
were  they  consulted  as  to  whether  their  lessons 
bored  them.  If  in  my  youthful  days,  for  instance, 
I  played  badly  in  my  piano-lesson,  it  was  so  much  the 
worse  for  me,  as  I  soon  found  out,  when  the  music- 
master  had  gone.  As  for  over-pressure,  the  word 
had  not  been  invented  then,  and  nervous  fatigue, 
hysteria  and  neurasthenia,  with  all  of  which  the 
modern  child  is  familiar,  had  not  yet  been  heard  of. 
Our  elders  certainly  themselves  set  us  a  good  ex- 
ample in  all  such  respects,  and  I  can  remember  the 
severe  animadversion  passed  on  the  poor  degenerate 
creatures  who  first  indulged  in  the  above  unbecom- 
ing weaknesses.  All  through  her  married  life  my 
grandmother  had  to  stand  every  evening  with  her 
ladies,  in  full  dress  upright  beside  the  billiard-table, 
to  watch  her  lord  and  master 's  play,  and  neither  she 
nor  anyone  else  dared  to  be  tired  or  feel  bored,  until 
the  match  was  finished.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say  that  people  in  those  days  knew 
how  to  be  bored  to  death  with  the  utmost  decorum ! 
There  were  no  comfortable  easy-chairs  to  lean  back 
in;  if  one  sat  down  at  all,  it  was  bolt  upright  on  a 
chair  of  most  uncompromising  severity.  For  our 
lessons  we  had  very  hard  high  wooden  chairs,  from 

155 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

which  our  poor  little  legs  dangled  till  they  ached, 
very  different  from  the  nice  comfortable  schoolroom 
chairs  with  their  foot-rest,  which  children  have  now. 
And  worst  of  all,  there  was  the  dreadful  invention 
for  deportment,  a  horrible  heart-shaped  contrivance, 
of  iron  covered  with  leather,  into  which  we  were 
strapped  to  make  us  hold  ourselves  upright.  To 
my  indescribable  humiliation,  I  was  sometimes 
obliged  to  go  for  a  walk  with  the  odious  machine 
fastened  to  my  back.  Even  this  seemed  quite  mild 
though,  compared  to  the  means  employed  in  a  for- 
mer generation,  one  of  my  great-aunts  being  able  to 
tell  of  the  spiked  collar,  which  in  addition  to  the 
iron  back-board,  she  was  forced  to  wear,  to  prevent 
her  from  ever  allowing  her  head  to  droop.  Was  it 
the  effect  of  this  instrument  of  torture,  that  in  her 
ninetieth  year,  she  had  never  been  known  to  lean 
back  in  her  chair! 

Out  of  this  hard  training,  of  this  undue  repression, 
and  as  a  natural  consequence  too  of  the  incessant 
cupping  and  bleeding,  practised  on  the  former  gen- 
eration as  a  remedy  for  all  existent  and  non-existent 
maladies,  there  came  forth  another,  debilitated,  un- 
nerved, an  easy  prey  to  the  whole  host  of  nervous 
disorders  lying  in  wait  for  it.  I  have  lived  through 
and  looked  on  at  every  phase  of  the  transformation. 
Healthy  as  I  was,  I  should  hardly  have  escaped  the 
drastic  measures  to  which  the  so-called  plethoric 
were  subjected,  had  it  not  been  sufficiently  proved 
that  their  application  had  been  injurious  rather  than 
beneficial  to  my  mother.  The  immense  strides  made 
by  medical  science  of  recent  years,  make  it  difficult 

156 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

to  judge  rightly  the  mental  attitude  of  those,  who 
in  their  impatience  of  the  inanity  and  futility  of 
orthodox  treatment,  seem  formerly  to  have  wel- 
comed and  blindly  followed  the  advice  of  every 
quack,  calling  himself  a  mesmeriser.  We  should  be 
slower  to  condemn  them,  had  we  also  suffered  from 
the  ignorance  and  incompetence  of  the  regular  prac- 
titioner, and  perhaps  be  equally  willing  to  sign  a 
pact  with  the  Evil  One  and  his  agents,  in  order  to 
regain  the  blessing  of  health !  It  was  this  tendency 
that  led  to  the  first  great  disappointment  of  my  life, 
which  I  experienced  when  I  was  only  five  years  old, 
in  the  following  manner: 

I  had  a  little  birth-mark  on  my  left  cheek,  which 
was  a  great  source  of  vexation  to  my  parents,  no- 
body understanding  in  those  days  how  to  remove 
anything  of  the  sort.  They  were  therefore  all  the 
more  readily  disposed  to  put  faith  in  the  assertion 
of  a  wandering  charlatan,  of  his  ability  to  make  it 
disappear.  I  was  fetched  from  my  lessons  by  my 
father,  placed  in  a  chair,  and  the  stranger  pro- 
ceeded to  apply  a  dark  fluid  from  a  little  phial  to 
the  spot,  assuring  my  parents  that  when  this  had 
dried  up,  they  would  find  on  its  removal  no  trace 
of  the  mole  left.  Somehow  or  other  I  had  under- 
stood that  by  means  of  this  magical  process,  I  should 
never  be  naughty  again.  As  might  be  expected, 
when  the  stain  of  the  fluid  was  washed  away,  the 
mole  was  there  just  as  before,  with  a  slight  scar 
into  the  bargain,  and  I  was  as  naughty  as  ever! 
That  was  my  first  real  big  disappointment.  The 
next  came  when  I  was  six,  with  my  first  glimpse 

157 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

of  the  sea.  When  we  reached  the  shore  to  go  on 
board  the  boat,  it  was  low  tide,  and  instead  of  the 
wide  far-reaching  plain  of  water  I  was  prepared  to 
see,  there  was  nothing  bnt  sand,  with  a  few  pools. 
To  my  mother's  apostrophe, — "Look,  Elizabeth! 
there  is  the  sea ! "  I  could  not  find  a  word  to  say  in 
reply,  I  was  too  bitterly  disappointed.  I  had  ex- 
pected to  behold  a  great  towering  wall  of  water,  like 
that  I  was  familiar  with  in  the  pictures  of  the  cross- 
ing of  the  Red  Sea  by  the  Children  of  Israel.  And 
here  was  nothing  but  sand,  with  a  few  wretched 
pools!  Afterwards  I  saw  the  great  expanse  of 
water,  always  in  movement,  and  stretching  out  far 
away,  but  it  was  too  late  then,  the  first  impression 
was  over  and  all  was  spoilt.  The  third  disappoint- 
ment came  much  later,  at  first  sight  of  Rome,  and 
does  not  belong  here. 

To  return  to  my  story.  In  one  of  my  uncle's 
letters  from  America,  he  told  us  of  his  visit  to  a 
house,  where  the  guests  were  all  amusing  themselves 
by  setting  a  table  in  motion  by  simply  letting  their 
hands  rest  lightly  on  it,  as  they  stood  round.  It  had 
interested  him,  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  induce 
my  father  to  take  any  part  in  the  proceedings,  the 
latter  declining  even  to  countenance  such  nonsense, 
declaring  himself  the  enemy  of  every  sort  of  hum- 
bug. At  home,  on  the  contrary,  curiosity  was  im- 
mediately aroused,  our  former  experience  with  the 
magnetiser  and  the  discovery  of  my  uncle's  marvel- 
lous powers,  having  to  a  certain  extent  initiated 
us  into  the  mysteries  of  the  occult.  Young  and  old, 
children  and  grown-up  people,  we  were  all  pressed 

158 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

into  the  service,  and  were  soon  all  standing  in  a  ring 
round  a  very  big  table,  our  hands  resting  on  it,  so 
that  one's  little  finger  touched  that  of  one's  neigh- 
bour on  either  side.  Thus  we  stood  and  waited,  with 
some  impatience,  and  a  good  deal  of  inward  merri- 
ment, to  see  what  would  occur.  Just  as  we  were  get- 
ting thoroughly  disheartened  and  tired  out,  a  tiny 
tremor  was  felt  in  the  table,  which  then,  in  spite  of 
its  great  weight,  actually  began  to  move  from  the 
spot.  Naturally,  each  one  accused  the  other  of 
pushing,  but  that  explanation  would  have  been 
neither  satisfactory  nor  admissible,  standing  as  we 
were  with  our  hands  in  full  view  of  one  another,  so 
that  no  attempt  at  cheating  could  have  passed  un- 
perceived.  And  our  astonishment  was  increased 
when  we  observed  how  when  my  mother  was  wheeled 
into  the  room,  she  had  but  to  lay  her  finger  ever  so 
lightly  on  the  table,  for  it  at  once  to  begin  to  move 
quicker,  even  setting  off  to  rush  about  in  all  direc- 
tions, so  that  she  had  to  be  pushed  after  it  in  her 
chair.  We  all  followed,  with  peals  of  laughter  at 
the  strange  sight,  the  ungainly  movements  of  this 
new  sort  of  dancing-bear,  and  so  much  amusement 
did  this  afford,  that  we  set  to  work  at  once  to  experi- 
ment on  all  sorts  of  other  inanimate  objects.  "We 
soon  found  that  all  were  not  in  the  same  degree 
susceptible  of  locomotion,  nor  were  all  human  be- 
ings equally  endowed  with  the  latent  force  by  which 
automatic  movement  could  be  imparted  to  things 
usually  inert.  Count  Oriola  proved  to  be  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  quite  exceptional  degree  of  this  psychic 
or  magnetic  force;  he  had  only  to  stretch  out  his 

159 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

hand  within  a  few  paces  of  a  small  table,  and  it  im- 
mediately came  marching  towards  him,  apparently 
with  great  glee,  to  our  inexpressible  delight,  but  to 
the  unspeakable  horror  of  my  governess,  from  whose 
sitting-room  the  table  had  been  borrowed,  and  who 
energetically  refused  to  receive  such  an  impish  piece 
of  furniture  back  again! 

Not  only  tables,  but  chairs,  sofas,  all  sorts  of 
things  seemed  now  suddenly  to  have  become  capable 
of  walking  about;  it  was  even  told  of  a  young  girl 
staying  in  our  house,  that  holding  her  hand  over  a 
big  glass  shade  that  covered  a  clock,  to  her  surprise 
the  shade  lifted  itself  up  in  the  air  to  reach  her 
hand,  and  remained  for  a  time  firmly  fixed  to  it. 
Naturally  enough,  the  thing  being  once  admitted  in 
principle,  its  possibility  established  beyond  a  doubt, 
there  were  no  bounds,  no  limits  to  our  curiosity, 
and  every  other  form  of  amusement  was  cast  into 
the  background  by  this.  It  was  much  more  inter- 
esting than  simple  mesmerising,  and  instead  of  be- 
ing like  that  confined  to  an  experiment  on  one  person 
at  a  time,  in  this  all  could  take  part.  We  moreover 
obtained  the  proof  that  the  force  by  which  these 
results  were  obtained,  was  not  entirely  confined  to 
certain  more  highly-favoured  individuals,  but  lay  in 
some  degree  latent  in  everyone,  and  could  be  im- 
mensely developed  by  practice.  Nor  was  this  ever 
attended  with  the  least  inconvenience  to  the  experi- 
menter, an  effort  of  the  will,  a  certain  tension  and 
concentration  of  mind,  being  the  chief  conditions  of 
success.  Tt  was,  however,  also  of  great  moment  that 
suoh  experiments  should  be  undertaken  in  a  proper 

160 


A  FAITH-HEALER 

spirit,  i.e.,  seriously,  with  a  real  desire  to  investigate 
their  nature  and  to  turn  them  to  the  advantage  of 
one's  fellow-beings,  for  we  soon  noticed  that  those 
who  treated  the  matter  as  a  mere  joke,  approach- 
ing it  in  a  frivolous  mood,  generally  failed  in  all 
they  attempted.  As  might  be  expected,  the  persons 
whose  fund  of  magnetism  was  most  considerable, 
proved  also  to  be  those  who  could  most  easily  induce 
in  others  the  magnetic  trance.  All  seemed  to  re- 
solve itself  into  that  one  process  of  mental  concen- 
tration, and  someone  remarked  that  this  word 
"concentration"  was  the  one  most  often  heard,  and 
that  formulated  the  rule  of  life  and  scheme  of  edu- 
cation in  our  family.  Perhaps  I  owe  it  to  the  habit 
acquired  then,  that  I  am  never  absent-minded,  but 
always  able  to  concentrate  my  thoughts  on  the  mat- 
ter in  hand,  and  taking  into  consideration  my  lively 
imagination,  I  think  this  may  be  looked  upon  as 
an  educational  triumph ! 

Whilst ' '  concentration ' '  was  thus  the  order  of  the 
day  among  us,  it  happened  that  my  mother  heard 
of  the  marvellous  cures,  recalling  those  told  of  in 
the  Bible,  being  worked  in  Paris  by  a  "Faith- 
healer,"  as  we  should  certainly  now  call  him,  since 
they  were  effected  by  no  other  means  than  the  simple 
laying-on  of  hands.  One  of  the  patients  then  under 
treatment,  and  making  rapid  progress,  was  Schleier- 
macher's  daughter,  Countess  Schwerin,  whose  case 
so  nearly  resembled  my  mother's  own,  that  the  latter 
could  not  refrain  from  writing  to  tell  mv  father  all 
she  had  heard,  with  the  result  that  on  his  way  home 
from  America  he  stopped  in  Paris,  to  make  further 
11  161 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

enquiries.  He  called  on  the  magnetiser,  whose 
name  was  Count  Szapary,  and  begged  him  to  under- 
take my  mother's  case.  This  request  met  at  first 
with  a  decided  refusal,  it  being  impossible  for  him, 
the  Count  stated,  to  abandon  for  a  new  patient  the 
many  now  being  treated  by  him,  these  being,  more- 
over, already  so  numerous  that  he  could  not  think 
of  adding  to  them.  He  did,  however,  in  the  end 
so  far  modify  his  refusal,  as  to  promise  that  in  the 
course  of  a  journey  he  was  about  to  take,  and  which 
should  lead  him  Rhinewards,  he  would  certainly 
pay  my  mother  a  visit,  and  see  what  could  be  done 
for  her. 

Three  days  had  not  yet  passed  over  our  heads  in 
Bonn  since  my  father's  return,  when  the  little  gar- 
den gate  was  suddenly  flung  open  by  a  stranger  of 
distinguished  presence — in  spite  of  a  slight  limp 
(the  result,  we  afterwards  learned,  of  a  carriage 
accident,  some  time  previous,  in  Hungary) — and  in 
whose  thick  dark  moustache  the  first  silvery  threads 
were  beginning  to  appear,  though  not  yet  in  the 
rather  long  and  wavy  thick  dark  hair,  a  lock  of 
which,  escaping,  was  continually  falling  over  his 
forehead.  My  father  went  forward  to  meet  this  gen- 
tleman, whom  he  introduced  as  Count  Szapary,  and 
who  brought  the  scrutinising  glance  of  his  big  black 
eyes  to  bear  on  our  little  group,  with  but  little,  at 
first  sight  it  seemed,  of  the  kindly  smile  which  on 
better  intimacy  lit  up  his  face  so  constantly.  His 
own  wonderful  powers,  which  he  was  now  bent  on 
using  for  the  good  of  mankind,  had  been  revealed 
to  him  by  chance,  some  might  call  it,  in  reality  by 

162 


A  FAITH-HEALER 

his  despairing  efforts  to  procure  by  mesmerism  the 
boon  of  sleep  and  respite  from  pain  for  an  invalid 
daughter,  given  up  by  the  regular  doctor.  To  his 
glad  astonishment,  not  only  did  the  magnetic  passes 
send  the  patient  into  a  refreshing  slumber,  but  a 
repetition  of  the  experiment  was  equally  successful, 
and,  being  persevered  with,  in  time  restored  her  to 
health.  In  his  gratitude  for  his  child's  life  being 
spared,  the  father  determined  to  use  his  gift  hence- 
forth for  the  benefit  of  others,  and  in  order  to  culti- 
vate it  systematically,  he  went  to  Paris  to  study 
medicine  for  a  time,  and  establishing  himself  there, 
the  cures  wrought  by  him  were  very  soon  widely 
talked  of.  There  was  a  minute  of  suspense  as  the 
thoughtful,  enquiring  glance  rested  on  my  mother, 
and  we  trembled  lest  the  objections  urged  against 
my  father's  pleadings  in  Paris  should  still  be  main- 
tained. But  at  that  critical  moment,  poor  little  Otto 
happened  to  join  us,  and  again  the  sharp  restless 
eyes  travelled  from  the  sorely  tried  young  mother 
to  the  unhappy  child,  and  back  again  to  the  pale, 
emaciated  father,  already  in  a  rapid  decline,  and  all 
hesitation  was  at  an  end.  The  spectacle  of  so  much 
suffering  was  decisive  for  the  man  whose  whole  life 
was  given  up  to  alleviating  human  misery.  Without 
further  demur  he  agreed  to  devote  his  time,  his 
skill,  to  the  case  before  him.  "But,"  he  hastened 
to  add,  after  a  rapid  examination  of  his  patient, 
"your  life  I  can  perhaps  save,  more  I  cannot  say,  I 
cannot  promise  that  you  will  ever  recover  the  use 
of  your  limbs!"  And  indeed  at  that  time  it  looked 
as  if  the  one  leg  were  completely  atrophied,  it  was 

163 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

as  if  withered — literally  reduced  to  skin  and  bone. 
When  our  new  friend  took  his  leave,  it  was  with  the 
promise  to  return  in  a  very  few  weeks'  time,  to 
accompany  us  himself  to  Paris,  as  he  feared  that 
without  him  my  mother  might  not  even  survive  the 
journey. 

So  we  set  out  for  Paris,  my  brother  Wilhelm  and 
I  in  one  railway  compartment  with  tutor  and  gover- 
ness, Otto  in  another  for  himself  with  his  faithful 
attendant,  our  good  old  nurse,  and  my  mother  in 
hers,  in  the  hammock  slung  for  her,  with  my  father 
and  Fraulein  von  Preen  close  at  hand,  and  Count 
Szapary  standing  beside  her,  steadying  the  ham- 
mock with  the  one  hand,  whilst  with  the  other  he  con- 
tinued uninterruptedly  making  the  mesmeric  passes, 
to  still  the  frightful  paroxysms  of  pain,  which  almost 
threatened  to  prove  fatal  during  the  journey.  Ter- 
rible as  it  was,  it  yet  differed  from  former  journeys 
undertaken  under  like  circumstances,  in  the  absence 
of  the  overpowering  smell  of  chloral,  ether,  and 
other  medicaments,  for  all  such  were  from  this  mo- 
ment abolished  and  never  heard  of  more.  It  was 
not  astonishing,  when  we  did  arrive  safely  and  were 
installed  in  the  house  taken  for  us  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  that  directly  he  had  seen  his  patient  car- 
ried upstairs  and  put  to  bed,  Count  Szapary  should 
have  sought  his  own  room,  and  falling  exhausted  on 
his  bed,  have  slept  on  without  waking  for  ten  hours. 

Next  day  began  the  treatment — no  easy  matter, 
as  my  mother's  extreme  weakness  made  it  necessary 
to  proceed  with  the  utmost  precaution,  and  Count 
Szapary  afterwards  owned  that  he  had  more  than 

164 


A  FAITH-HEALER 

once  feared  that  she  might  die  while  undergoing  it. 
But  he  persevered,  and  was  rewarded  at  the  end  of 
six  months  by  perceiving  a  faint  twitching  in  the 
toes  of  the  till  then  apparently  lifeless  foot.  "Ah! 
you  will  be  able  to  walk  again  after  all!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  his  delight,  and  continued  the  massage 
so  vigorously  and  to  such  good  purpose,  that  life 
seemed  to  return  gradually  to  the  whole  of  the 
paralysed  limb,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks 
the  patient  could  actually  take  a  few  steps.  Only  a 
very  few  at  first,  leaning  on  her  companion's  arm, 
and  with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks  with 
the  effort  and  the  pain,  sometimes  severe  enough 
to  make  her  faint  away  before  it  was  over.  But 
through  it  all  she  could  see  us  watching  her,  the 
first  time  she  was  taken  into  the  garden,  and  she 
told  us  afterwards  of  our  anxious  faces,  mine  flushed 
with  excitement  as  I  ran  towards  her,  whilst  Wil- 
helm  turned  deadly  pale  as  he  tried  to  move  away 
every  little  pebble  in  her  way  in  the  path.  Then, 
a  few  days  later,  Otto  also  was  allowed  to  look  on, 
and  for  him  it  was  something  even  more  solemn  and 
wonderful,  for  it  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that 
he  had  seen  his  mother  able  to  walk  a  step.  With- 
out a  word  he  went  up  to  her,  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  walked  slowly  beside  her  the  whole  time, 
in  perfect  silence.  For  all  of  us  it  was  the  grandest 
and  most  impressive  event  of  our  whole  childhood, 
something  that  seemed  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  a 
miracle,  and  that  brought  the  stories  of  miraculous 
cures  in  times  of  old  quite  near  to  us,  making  them 
a  more  living  reality  than  to  most  people,  since  we 

165 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

had  ourselves  with  our  own  eyes  witnessed  some- 
thing similar  in  the  person  of  one  so  near  and  dear 
to  us.  It  will  readily  be  believed,  that  our  admira- 
tion and  gratitude  for  him  who  had  wrought  this 
marvel  knew  no  bounds.  To  say  that  we  looked 
upon  him  as  a  saint,  seems  but  a  feeble  expression 
of  the  feeling  of  veneration  with  which  we  regarded 
him. 

Of  the  actual  working  of  the  cure,  of  the  mode  of 
treatment,  we  saw  nothing,  and  heard  but  little;  I 
only  know  that  little  by  little,  the  terrible  convul- 
sions were  transformed  into  regular  exercise  of  the 
muscles,  in  fact  into  an  involuntary  process  of  thera- 
peutic gymnastics.  In  course  of  time,  not  only  was 
the  cure  complete,  but  her  own  fund  of  natural 
magnetism  had  been  discovered  to  be  so  exceptional, 
that  my  mother  was  anxious  to  celebrate  her  restora- 
tion to  health  by  performing  a  like  good  work  for 
others,  and  began  visiting  Count  Szapary's  other 
patients  with  him,  undertaking  a  portion  of  the 
treatment.  At  her  pressing  invitation  the  lame 
Fraulein  von  Bunsen  came  to  stay  with  us,  and 
thanks  to  the  combined  efforts  of  my  mother  and 
Count  Szapary,  she  also  was  set  on  her  feet  again 
and  able  to  walk  after  being  for  five-and-twenty 
years  considered  beyond  all  hope  of  recovery! 

For  my  mother  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  life 
in  more  meanings  than  one,  for  it  was  now  her  turn, 
after  her  own  miraculous  cure,  to  cultivate  and  turn 
to  account  in  the  service  of  humanity,  the  gift  be- 
stowed upon  her  unawares.  She  perhaps  never  be- 
came quite  so  strong  as  had  been  at  first  hoped, 

166 


A  FAITH- HEALER 

and,  in  fact,  she  often  felt  far  from  well,  but  the 
lameness  never  returned.  And  it  very  soon  became 
clearly  established,  that  the  possession  of  magnetic 
force  by  no  means  corresponds  to  our  physical 
strength  or  indeed  to  our  bodily  health.  Concern- 
ing this,  very  thorough  investigations  were  made 
by  my  father,  who  would  not  have  tolerated  the  idea 
of  anything  being  done  by  his  wife  which  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  harmful  to  her  own  health.  On  that 
point  there  could  be  no  shadow  of  doubt;  our  ex- 
periments in  mesmerising  and  table-turning  furnish- 
ing constant  examples  of  the  presence  of  these 
powers  in  a  transcendent  degree  in  persons  of  spe- 
cially fragile  build  and  constitutional  delicacy.  It 
was  just  by  these  that  feats  were  accomplished, 
which  would  not  merely  have  taxed  their  ordinary 
strength,  but  would  have  been  impossible  to  the 
strongest  man.  All  this  will  no  longer  seem  so 
very  surprising  at  the  present  day,  but  the  period  I 
deal  with  is  of  fifty  years  ago,  when  these  marvels 
were  not  yet  subjects  of  common  parlance.  No 
Charcot  had  yet  made  his  experiments  with  sugges- 
tion and  hypnotism;  indeed,  the  very  names  were 
scarcely  known.  My  father,  who  was  so  little  in- 
clined to  credulity  that  friends  and  relations  had 
dubbed  him  the  unbelieving  Thomas,  gave  himself 
up  to  the  serious  study  of  the  question.  His  natu- 
rally philosophic  bent  found  here  ample  matter  for 
reflection.  "I  have  not  the  dogmatic  arrogance," 
he  was  accustomed  to  say,  "  which  would  enable  me 
to  deny  the  existence  of  phenomena,  simply  because 
I  fail  to  comprehend  them !"    Investigating  them  in 

167 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

this  spirit,  from  the  purely  scientific  point  of  view, 
he  acquired  the  conviction  that  they  were  manifesta- 
tions of  an  inner  life,  the  proof  of  a  persistence  of 
thought  independent  of  cerebral  cognition,  and  he 
therefore  gave  to  the  book  he  wrote  on  the  subject, 
the  title,  ' '  Subconscious  Mental  Life. ' '  I  am  aware 
that  the  theory  he  upheld  is  now  much  contested, 
that  there  are  those  who,  while  they  do  not  dispute 
the  genuineness  of  the  manifestations,  would  ascribe 
them  to  quite  another  cause,  looking  upon  them  as  of 
purely  objective  nature,  and  entirely  independent 
of  the  medium.  Time  alone  can  decide  which  of 
these  two  schools  of  psychical  research  is  the  better 
justified.  Then,  at  all  events,  it  had  not  yet 
occurred  to  any  of  us  to  seek  the  explanation  of  these 
phenomena  from  without,  everything  appearing 
sufficiently  to  demonstrate  their  origin  in  our  own 
mentality;  a  belief  which  did  not,  however,  in  the 
least  preclude  our  full  recognition  of  the  superiority 
of  the  results  achieved,  to  all  similar  performances 
by  the  same  individual  in  the  normal  state.  Our 
experiments  were  now  no  longer  confined  to  mere 
spirit-rapping  or  observations  made  on  subjects  dur- 
ing the  mesmeric  trance;  they  were  henceforth  spe- 
cially directed  to  psychography,  and  with  the  most 
gratifying  results.  It  was  perhaps  the  manifes- 
tations in  this  higher  sphere  which  overcame  the  last 
barriers  of  my  father's  incredulity;  the  simple 
manner  in  which  they  were  obtained,  by  means  of  a 
pencil,  passed  through  a  large  woollen  ball,  on  which 
two  persons  placed  their  hands,  absolutely  prevent- 
ing any  possibility  of  fraud.    Very  often  he  made 

168 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

the  experiment  himself,  together  with  one  other  per- 
son, generally  a  young  girl  whose  store  of  mag- 
netism was  known  to  be  above  the  average,  and  he 
was  able  thus  to  convince  himself  that  the  move- 
ments of  the  pencil,  tracing  characters  with  light- 
ning rapidity  in  its  course  across  the  paper,  were 
entirely  independent  of  human  agency. 

Questions  of  deepest  import  were  asked,  answers 
on  subjects  either  of  private  or  of  general  interest 
obtained,  and  many  a  philosophic  doubt  laid  to  rest, 
by  this  spirit-writing.  And  these  messages,  I  can- 
not sufficiently  repeat,  seemed  to  have  as  a  rule  little 
in  common  with  the  mental  powers  or  culture  of  the 
person  through  whom  they  were  transmitted,  being 
on  an  altogether  different  plane,  a  higher  intel- 
lectual level  than  that  of  society  in  general.  Cer- 
tainly no  means  was  neglected  of  raising  the  tone 
of  conversation  among  the  ever-widening  circle  of 
friends  who  assembled  for  these  seances;  all  frivo- 
lous chatter  was  banished,  gossip  was  a  thing  utterly 
unknown,  and  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say,  that  it 
was  in  a  well-nigh  religious  spirit  that  most  of  us 
gathered  round  the  table  on  which  the  manifesta- 
tions took  place.  Among  the  guests  in  our  house, 
was  the  aged  musician,  Neukomm,  and  very  often, 
as  a  preliminary  to  the  evening's  proceedings,  he 
would  seat  himself  at  the  organ,  and  by  a  soft  and 
solemn  prelude  would  induce  in  all  present  a  frame 
of  mind  suitable  to  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 
As  I  was  now  in  my  twelfth  year,  and  my  mind  un- 
usually developed  for  my  age,  I  was  allowed  to  par- 
ticipate in  all  that  went  on.     Above  all,  I  loved  to 

169 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

hear  my  father  talk  of  those  philosophic  questions 
that  occupied  his  own  thoughts,  and  it  was  from  this 
time  that  dated  the  delightful  long  walks  we  took 
together,  in  which  he  instructed  me  in  the  history  of 
philosophy,  explaining  to  me  the  various  philo- 
sophic systems,  and  reading  to  me  passages  from  his 
own  writings,  thereby  giving  me  my  first  insight 
into  the  metaphysical  problems  in  which  his  soul 
took  refuge  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  world. 
His  dream  it  doubtless  was,  to  make  of  me  a  philoso- 
pher like  himself,  and  his  enthusiasm  and  earnest- 
ness could  not  fail  to  arouse  my  interest  in  the 
themes  on  which  he  waxed  so  eloquent;  but  my  own 
bent  was  a  different  one — the  field  of  metaphysical 
speculation,  as  thrown  open  to  me  by  my  beloved 
and  revered  father,  might  well  entice  my  spirit 
awhile, — my  sojourn  there  could  be  but  brief,  it  was 
in  another  dreamland  I  was  eventually  to  find  my 
home,  and  already,  unknown  to  everyone,  I  had 
made  my  first  excursions,  my  first  timid  flights 
within  those  realms.  Everything  I  heard,  every- 
thing I  saw,  each  fresh  addition  to  my  store  of 
knowledge,  each  wonderful  revelation  of  the  world 
above  and  beyond  the  perception  of  the  senses,  into 
which  it  was  our  privilege  to  obtain  a  glimpse  by  the 
marvellous  experiences  chronicled  above — all  this 
did  but  furnish  material  for  my  active  imagination, 
and  was  absorbed,  and  pondered  over,  and  woven 
into  the  intangible,  unsubstantial  fabric  of  many  a 
future  song.  Meantime,  the  influences  of  the  hour 
were  naturally  all-powerful  in  magnifying  the  ven- 
eration in  which  T  held  my  parents.     It  was  in  truth 

170 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

no  ordinary  every-day  existence  which  they  led; 
and  that  which  was  most  remarkable  was  the  perfect 
harmony  in  aim  and  action  of  these  two  so  dis- 
similar natures,  and  their  admirable  co-operation  in 
furthering  the  well-being  of  their  fellow-creatures, 
the  special  gifts  of  each  being  employed  to  the  same 
end,  my  father's  theoretically,  my  mother's  in  the 
direction  of  practical  utility.  Of  the  cures  which 
the  latter  was  enabled  to  work,  I  shall  tell  elsewhere ; 
suffice  it  to  say  in  this  place,  that  they  were  effected 
with  a  swiftness,  and  attended  with  circumstances 
so  remarkable  as  to  surpass  if  anything  those  of 
Szapary  himself.  In  later  years,  when  the  extraor- 
dinary cures  wrought  by  Metzger  and  other  mas- 
seurs were  spoken  of  in  my  mother's  presence,  it 
did  not  astonish  anyone  who  knew  her  that  she 
should  calmly  remark,  with  a  pitying  smile — "That 
is  all  very  well,  but  it  is  nothing  to  what  I  could  do ! 
I  had  but  to  stretch  out  my  hand  and  say — Rise  up, 
thou  art  healed!" 

The  somnambulistic  experiments  I  witnessed  were 
perhaps  more  marvellous  than  all  the  rest.  It 
would  almost  seem  as  if  in  the  case  of  the  som- 
nambulist the  law  of  gravitation  were  abolished, 
so  entirely  free  from  the  trammels  of  material  exist- 
ence does  the  human  body  appear  to  be  while  in  this 
state.  Certainly  my  mother  often  appeared  to  us 
no  longer  to  tread  the  earth,  she  seemed  to  float 
rather  than  walk,  and  any  further  and  more  com- 
plete abolition  of  what  we  are  accustomed  to  term 
the  laws  of  nature,  would  assuredly  have  occasioned 
among  us  no  surprise  at  all.     No  amount  of  famil- 

171 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

iarity,  on  the  other  hand,  could  ever  do  away  with 
the  feeling  of  awe,  with  which  my  mother's  ecstatic 
trance  invariably  inspired  us.  Unconscious  of  all 
around,  she  sang  and  prayed — the  words  and  melody 
alike  of  her  own  composition ;  it  was  a  deeply  mov- 
ing spectacle. 

Brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  so  highly  charged 
with  the  marvellous,  it  has  ever  been  impossible  to 
me  to  assume  a  sceptical  attitude  towards  mysteries 
which  elude  my  comprehension.  The  word  super- 
natural seems  to  me  to  be  an  absolute  contradiction 
in  terms.  Who  are  we  that  we  should  dare  to  set 
limits  to  the  forces  of  nature,  and  to  decide  that  this 
or  that  occurrence  is  beyond  her  control?  Did  we 
but  understand  such  events  aright,  we  must  needs 
acknowledge  them  to  be  perfectly  natural.  Egyp- 
tian priests  of  old,  and  Indian  fakirs  of  the  present 
day  may  alike  laugh  us  to  scorn,  that  in  our  igno- 
rance and  impotence  we  presume  to  question  the  ex- 
istence of  forces  whose  workings  they  have  fathomed 
and  turned  to  such  good  account.  Recourse  to  the 
supernatural  is  but  a  return  to  nature.  For  this 
reason  it  may  well  be  that  outside  the  domain  of 
surgery,  wherein  such  incontestable  triumphs  have 
been  achieved,  of  the  whole  of  our  modern  medical 
practice  the  so-called  nature-cures  will  in  the  end 
alone  survive.  They  rest  indeed  on  a  purely 
rational  basis,  the  treatment  being  none  other  than 
the  art  of  transforming  pathological  phenomena 
into  therapeutical  processes. 

T  refer  of  course  to  the  treatment  I  have  myself 
seen  practised  and  to  the  examples  quoted  here. 

172 


A  FAITH -HEALER 

The  system  made  considerable  demands  on  the  good- 
will and  concurrence  of  the  patient,  these  being,  in 
the  opinion  of  Count  Szapary,  indispensable  condi- 
tions of  its  success.  An  entirely  different  principle 
is  acted  upon,  I  am  aware,  by  those  who  practise 
massage  at  the  present  day.  With  them  the  patient 
remains  entirely  passive,  and  the  massage  itself  is 
alone  supposed  to  work  the  cure.  I  will  not  enter 
into  the  question  of  the  respective  merits  of  the  two 
systems,  I  would  merely  point  out  the  benefit  that 
accrued  to  the  patient  from  the  independence  to 
which  he  was  encouraged  by  the  earlier  one.  All 
who  had  sufficient  energy  to  follow  the  prescribed 
path,  were  able  in  course  of  time  to  continue  the 
treatment  alone,  whilst  such  as  were  found  incapable 
of  making  the  necessary  effort  for  recovery,  and 
disposed  to  fall  into  a  morbid  state  of  dependence 
on  the  doctor,  were  dismissed  as  a  hindrance  to  the 
others.  Every  phase  of  illness  was  treated  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  progress,  every  symptom  turned 
to  account ;  the  somnambulistic  trance,  for  instance, 
was  made  use  of  as  a  stage  in  the  transition  from 
sickness  to  health,  a  state  of  repose  deeper  and 
more  refreshing  than  ordinary  sleep,  during  which 
by  no  other  means  than  the  rest  prescribed  by] 
nature,  the  weakened  frame  and  overstrung  nerves 
might  recover  their  equilibrium.  Every  step  in  the 
treatment  was  accompanied  by  prayer;  it  bore  in- 
deed from  first  to  last  a  markedly  religious  char- 
acter. All  the  members  of  our  little  circle  felt4 
themselves  lifted  above  the  common  wants  and  de- 
sires of  humanity  by  the  nobler  prospects  which  the 

173 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

wider  horizon  opened  out  before  them;  we  were  as 
neophytes  whom  some  rite  of  initiation  sets  apart 
for  holier  purposes.  It  was  difficult  to  live  invari- 
ably on  that  exalted  level,  the  circumstances  might 
not  always  be  propitious,  and  on  myself  they  seemed 
sometimes  to  bear  too  heavily.  It  was  the  sight  of 
so  much  suffering,  the  perpetual  intercourse  with 
invalids,  that  preyed  on  my  spirits  and  against 
which  my  own  youthful  health  and  strength  could 
at  times  scarce  react.  But  at  such  moments  my 
mother's  iron  discipline  stood  me  in  good  stead.  I 
had  been  so  well  drilled,  and  had  my  feelings  under 
such  perfect  control,  that  neither  to  her  nor  anyone 
else,  and  scarce  even  to  myself  would  I  ever  have 
acknowledged  that  life  had  sometimes  become  a 
burden  to  me.  I  knew  that  for  the  sake  of  others  I 
must  keep  a  smiling  face,  and  do  my  best  to  cheer 
them,  whatever  my  own  sadness. 

Count  Szapary  was  always  cheerful,  or  at  any  rate 
always  wore  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness,  laugh- 
ing and  singing  with  the  joviality  of  a  true  Hun- 
garian, and  rejoicing  in  magnificent  health  and 
strength.  This  doubtless  aided  him  to  give  confi- 
dence to  his  patients,  who  must  have  been  trying  at 
times  with  their  whims  and  caprices.  It  has  been 
given  to  few  to  benefit  their  fellow-creatures  to  a 
like  extent,  or  to  reap  the  harvest  of  benedictions 
that  will  forever  blossom  round  his  name. 


CHAPTER  X 

MARY  BARNES 

I  see  her  still,  in  her  plain  black  dress,  coming 
towards  the  castle  from  the  landing-stage  of  the 
steamer,  and  crossing  the  quadrangle  with  soft, 
noiseless  tread,  as  gentle  and  calm  as  the  breath  of 
the  evening  breeze,  bringing  with  her  an  atmosphere 
of  comfort  and  peace  of  which  we  became  conscious 
even  before  she  had  crossed  the  threshold. 

We  were  looking  out  for  her  with  impatience  and 
some  misgivings,  my  brother  Wilhelm  and  I,  for  the 
advent  of  a  new  nurse  is  an  event  of  no  small  im- 
portance in  children's  lives,  and  already,  scarce  three 
and  four  years  of  age  as  we  were  respectively,  we 
had  undergone  the  trial  of  parting  with  the  dear 
old  one  who  had  made  herself  so  justly  beloved, 
and  whose  place  was  taken  by  a  younger  woman, 
whom  we  detested  with  equal  vehemence  and  on 
equally  good  grounds.  So  we  ensconced  ourselves 
firmly  in  the  broad  window-sill  to  have  a  better  view 
of  the  new-comer,  wondering  to  ourselves  which  of 
her  two  predecessors  she  would  resemble.  Our 
doubts  were  dispelled  even  before  Barnes  entered 
the  house;  the  quick,  unerring  instinct  of  childhood 
told  us  that  many  happy  days  were  in  store  for  us  in 
the  care  of  this  good,  kind  soul,  who  came  along 
as  noiselessly  as  a  leaf  wafted  hither  by  the  wind. 
I  do  not  think  she  was  at  all  beautiful — in  point 
of  fact  rather  a  plain-featured  elderly  woman,  with 

175 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

at  times  a  decided  squint;  but  our  eyes  had  quickly 
discerned  the  beauty  of  the  soul  under  that  homely 
exterior,  and  lovely  she  ever  remained  to  us.  We 
saw  in  her  a  sort  of  guardian  angel,  shielding  us 
from  every  peril  that  might  beset  the  path  of  child- 
hood, watching  over  our  health  with  untiring  zeal, 
and  entirely  wrapped  up  in  our  happiness.  For 
herself  she  seemed  to  ask  nothing,  to  want  nothing, 
to  have  no  wishes  or  desires  beyond  those  that 
affected  the  well-being  of  her  little  charges.  That 
the  motherly  instinct  should  be  so  strong  in  her,  and 
should,  so  to  say,  pervade  her  whole  person,  was  the 
less  surprising  considering  that  she  had,  as  she  her- 
self told  us,  from  the  age  of  ten  played  the  part  of 
the  mother  they  had  lost  to  her  own  younger 
brothers  and  sisters.  She  was  the  ideal  nurse; 
scrupulous  in  the  fulfilment  of  all  her  duties,  and  her 
honest  simplicity  coupled  with  such  innate  delicacy 
of  feeling  as  to  lend  a  certain  refinement  to  her 
whole  person.  She  was  at  her  happiest  as  she  sat, 
needle  in  hand,  watching  our  games,  and  from  time 
to  time  laying  down  her  work,  the  more  thoroughly 
to  enter  into  our  merriment;  we  might  laugh  and 
romp  to  our  heart's  content,  her  calm  was  unruffled, 
her  patience  inexhaustible.  Our  childish  intuition 
had  not  been  at  fault  in  foreseeing  that  under  her 
kindly  sway  our  nursery  would  once  more  become 
a  little  paradise,  the  dearest  corner  for  us  in  the 
whole  house.  "We  should  have  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  be  left  there  as  long  as  possible;  but  alas! 
the  governess  was  already  on  the  way  to  whom  I  was 
to  be  handed  over,  and  who  was  antipathetic  to  me 

176 


MARY  BARNES 

from  the  very  first,  her  cleverness  availing  nothing 
to  conceal  that  she  was  both  underbred  and  ill-tem- 
pered. I  fled  as  often  as  I  could  from  her  harshness 
and  bad  manners,  back  to  the  dear  old  nursery — 
back  to  the  good  angel,  Barnes!  I  was  surely 
somewhat  young  to  have  been  removed  at  all  from 
those  gentle  influences,  but  the  step  had  been  judged 
a  wise  one  by  my  parents,  in  order  to  turn  to  account 
as  early  as  possible  the  magnificent  health  and 
excellent  abilities  with  which  I  was  blessed.  To  this 
young,  but  physically  fragile  couple — the  valetu- 
dinarian father,  pale,  melancholy,  of  sedentary  and 
studious  habits,  and  the  mother,  whose  own  natural 
liveliness  was  being  undermined  by  the  attacks  of 
an  insidious  and  baffling  malady — to  them  there  may 
well  have  been  something  disconcerting  and  almost 
alarming  in  the  temperament  of  such  a  child,  the 
quintessence  of  health,  restless  as  quicksilver  and 
blithe  as  a  bird,  in  whose  young  limbs  the  joy  of  liv- 
ing pulsed  wildly  and  on  whose  lips  snatches  of  song 
were  forever  alternating  with  ringing  laughter !  It 
cannot  be  wondered  at  if  they  only  saw  in  my  high 
spirits  a  sure  sign  of  frivolity,  and  that  on  every 
occasion  on  which  my  indomitable  will  showed  itself, 
I  should  simply  have  been  condemned  as  headstrong 
and  obstinate. 

I  seized,  then,  every  possible  opportunity  to  rush 
off  to  the  nursery,  to  shake  myself  free  of  all  fetters 
and  restraint — to  breathe  freely  once  more !  I  kept 
up  the  habit  for  some  time  of  going  every  now  and 
then  to  spend  a  quiet  hour  with  Barnes,  helping  her 
with  her  mending  and  sewing,  for  her  needle  was 

*       12  177 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

never  idle,  and  it  was  so  soothing  to  sit  and  talk 
with  her.  I  have  said  how  she  watched  over  us, 
tending  us  with  such  admirable  care  that  my 
brother's  health  improved  from  the  day  she  entered 
our  house.  But  all  that  was  nothing  compared  to 
the  superhuman  devotion,  the  heroic  self-sacrifice  of 
the  life  which  began  for  her  from  the  moment  of 
poor  little  Otto's  birth.  She  it  was  who  first  dis- 
covered what  was  wrong  with  the  unfortunate  child, 
and  with  tenderness  and  loving  care  that  are  beyond 
all  praise  and  which  words  are  inadequate  to  de- 
scribe, she  gave  herself  up  heart  and  soul  to  his 
service,  mitigating  as  far  as  might  be  the  terrible 
sufferings  that  made  a  martyrdom  of  his  short  life. 
Day  and  night  she  was  at  her  post,  indefatigable, 
uncomplaining,  holding  him  in  her  arms  for  hours 
at  a  time  to  ease  his  pain  and  enable  him  to  breathe 
with  a  little  less  difficulty,  her  whole  thought  how 
to  bring  some  relief  to  the  poor  tortured  little  frame. 
What  those  tortures  were,  none  knew  so  well  as  the 
faithful  Barnes,  and  I  have  therefore  chiefly  bor- 
rowed her  own  simple  words,  when  I  have  tried  to 
tell  the  story  of  my  poor  little  brother's  life.  He 
did  not  live  to  complete  his  twelfth  year,  but  in  that 
short  space  of  time  he  had  suffered  so  unutterably 
and  with  so  little  respite,  one  could  not  have  wished 
the  trial  to  be  prolonged.  Hardest  of  all  it  was  to 
his  devoted  nurse  to  leave  him  before  the  end,  but 
even  that  sacrifice  was  demanded  of  her,  my  mother 
believing  it  to  be  for  the  boy's  good  and  all  im- 
portant for  the  formation  of  his  character  that  he 
should  not  be  left  too  long  under  feminine  control. 

178 


MARY  BARNES 

Just  as  she  had  never  complained  of  fatigue  or  dis- 
comfort during  all  the  sleepless  nights  and  weary 
days  in  which  she  had  watched  beside  him,  so  now 
this  hardest  trial  brought  no  murmur  to  her  lips. 
She  accepted  it  with  the  same  pious  resignation, 
bravely  hiding  under  a  smiling  face  her  own  aching 
heart,  in  order  to  soften  the  pangs  of  separation  to 
her  beloved  foster-child.  Otto  had  always  called 
her  Nana,  and  Nana  she  remained  for  us,  even  after 
she  had  left  us  altogether  to  take  charge  of  the 
nursery  of  the  Grand  Duchess  of  Baden,  in  whose 
service  she  died. 

But  before  the  end  came  for  Otto,  Barnes  was  sent 
for  once  more,  and  stayed  with  him  some  days,  days 
unspeakably  precious  to  both,  until  all  was  over. 
And  again  she  had  the  courage,  the  supreme  cour- 
age of  true  affection,  to  smile  as  she  bade  him  that 
last  farewell ! 

Were  it  not  for  my  profound  conviction,  that  in 
publishing  these  reminiscences,  I  am  but  extending 
to  a  larger  circle  of  friends  and  sympathisers  the 
confidence  already  reposed  in  some,  I  should  never 
have  the  courage  to  throw  open  the  sacred  precincts 
of  the  Past.  But  the  lesson  of  these  lives  may  be 
useful  thus,  and  bring  hope  and  comfort  to  souls  still 
fainting  under  their  heavy  burden. 

Above  all  do  I  feel  it  a  duty,  when  I  hear  so  much 
said  of  the  worthlessness  of  human  nature,  to  tell  of 
the  good  which  I  have  witnessed  and  experienced. 
Fate  has  perhaps  in  this  dealt  more  kindly  with  me 
than  with  most,  for  I  have  met  far  more  good  than 
evil,  and  have  seldom  been  disappointed  and  de- 
ceived where  I  have  bestowed  affection  and  trust. 

179 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Can  one  even  believe  in  absolute  malevolence? 
May  not  those  who  appear  animated  by  ill-will 
sometimes  be  simply  mistaken?  Surely  the  noble- 
minded  Lamartine  was  right,  when  he  spoke  of 
"les  pauvres  mechants!"  With  some  of  them  it  is 
perhaps  sheer  clumsiness;  they  think  to  show  their 
affection,  but  its  object  is  crushed  to  death  by  it,  as 
surely  as  the  victim  of  a  bear's  uncouth  embrace! 

How  should  those  who  are  born  with  a  bear's 
ungainly  paws,  bear  the  branch  of  palm  or  scatter 
lilies  throughout  the  world!  There  are  a  few,  like 
our  good  Barnes,  whose  hands  were  made  to  carry 
lilies.  Wherever  she  turned,  balsam  sprang  forth. 
Her  own  life  was  joyless,  but  for  the  comfort  it 
brought  to  others,  and  therein  she  found  abiding 
happiness. 

Barnes  lies  buried  in  the  church  at  Meinau,  and  a 
tablet  with  a  most  touching  and  beautiful  inscription 
is  put  up  to  her  memory.  But  what  is  that  beside 
the  tablet  on  which  her  memory  is  engraved  within 
my  heart! — I  still  see  her  with  her  eyes  riveted  on 
Otto's  face,  following  every  change  in  it  with  an 
expression  of  the  deepest  concern,  and  the  words, 
"that  poor  child!"  ever  and  anon  breaking  involun- 
tarily from  her  lips.  Of  herself,  her  own  sufferings, 
her  own  fatigue,  never  a  word;  it  was  always  of 
him  she  spoke,  of  his  marvellous  patience,  his  unex- 
ampled fortitude.  Surely  she  must  be  rewarded 
now,  in  seeing  him  no  longer  writhing  with  pain,  but 
radiant  in  health  and  youthful  beauty,  having 
shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,  to  live  on  triumphant 
with  the  life  of  the  spirit. 

180 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

It  was  on  my  governess,  Fraulein  Josse,  that 
devolved  the  pleasing  task  of  bringing  a  little  inno- 
cent amusement  into  our  lives.  She  lent  herself  the 
more  willingly  to  this,  I  fancy,  that  she  was  often 
in  her  inmost  soul  distressed  to  see  us  thus  early 
initiated  into  so  much  sorrow  and  suffering,  such 
painful  daily  experiences  naturally  robbing  us  of 
the  healthy  unthinking  lightheartedness,  befitting 
our  age.  Nor  was  she  in  the  least  a  partisan  of 
the  uncompromisingly  matter-of-fact  system  of  edu- 
cation on  which  we  were  brought  up.  She  actually 
read  some  Mahrchen  aloud  to  us,  and  we  absolutely 
revelled  in  the  enchantments  of  that  delicious  fairy- 
world,  whose  gates  were  thus  thrown  open  to  us. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  a  quite  new  sort  of  game, 
in  which  even  poor  little  Otto  could  take  part,  these 
delightful  stories  being  acted  over  and  over  again 
by  us,  and  we  grew  quite  inventive  in  devising  char- 
acters for  him,  which  he  could  impersonate  sitting 
in  his  chair,  and  thus  have  the  illusion  of  playing 
his  part.  It  was  kind  Fraulein  Josse  too,  who  gave 
me  the  "Wide,  Wide  World,' '  the  only  book  in  the 
least  resembling  a  novel  which  I  was  allowed  to 
read  while  in  my  teens.  I  was  so  fond  of  it,  that  I 
used  to  hide  it  under  a  chair,  whence  I  could  fetch 
it  out  and  devour  a  few  pages,  in  the  hours  when 
I  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  been  committing  lines  of 

181 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

Horace  or  Ovid  to  memory,  or  writing  an  essay  on 
some  period  of  Church  history. 

The  "Wide,  Wide  World  "  thus  became,  with 
"Augustin,"  the  story  I  have  already  mentioned, 
the  favourite  reading  of  my  childhood,  and  those 
two  simple  books  were  my  inseparable  companions 
all  through  my  schooldays.  My  own  pleasure  in 
them  had  been  so  great,  I  would  have  liked  to  share 
it  with  others,  and  one  of  the  very  first  things  I  did 
on  arriving  in  Roumania,  was  to  have  "Augustin" 
translated  into  the  language  of  my  new  country. 
Unfortunately,  the  translator's  knowledge  of  Rou- 
manian was  insufficient,  a  circumstance  of  which  I 
was  then  unable  to  judge,  so  my  plan  did  not  suc- 
ceed. 

During  my  first  stay  in  Paris,  whither  Fraulein 
Josse  had  accompanied  us,  in  1853-54,  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  her  best  friends  there,  a  family 
called  Valette.  My  governess  and  Madame  Valette 
had  known  one  another  as  young  girls,  the  latter 
being  the  daughter  of  the  Pasteur  Affiat,  pastor  of 
the  French  Protestant  community  in  Hanau,  so  that 
both  were  delighted  at  thus  meeting  again.  And 
now,  Madame  Valette 's  husband  being  pastor  of  the 
little  Protestant  chapel  in  the  Marais,  it  became  our 
delight,  Wilhelm's  and  mine,  to  wander  over  there 
with  our  governess,  to  spend  our  weekly  half -holiday 
with  the  Valette  children.  Every  Thursday  then, 
we  set  out  on  foot  from  our  house  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  for  the  picturesque  little  dwelling  in  the 
Rue  Pavoe,  that  quaint  old-fashioned  street,  whose 
very  name  conjures  up  such  pleasant  memories  for 

182 


H.M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 


THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

me  after  all  these  years.  What  happy  hours  we 
passed,  playing  in  the  beautiful  garden,  which  our 
friends  shared  in  common  with  several  other  fami- 
lies, whom  we  also  learned  to  know.  It  was  such 
a  delicious  new  sensation  to  us,  of  freedom  from 
all  restraint  and  supervision,  our  elders  always  re- 
maining together  talking,  leaving  us  children  to  race 
unmolested  through  house  and  garden,  exercising 
our  active  young  limbs  and  our  sound  young  lungs, 
and  clearing  away  the  cobwebs  from  our  tired 
brains.  Staircase,  passages,  basement,  how  well  I 
remember  it  all,  and  the  pastor  himself,  whom  we 
thought  at  first  rather  stiff,  but  who  occasionally 
unbent  to  joke  with  us.  And  his  dear  good  wife, 
who  let  us  do  just  whatever  came  into  our  heads, 
never  interfering  with  our  wildest  play,  as  we  tore 
through  the  rooms,  springing  down  the  stairs  two  or 
three  steps  at  a  time,  and  hiding  in  dark  corners, 
whence  we  could  spring  out  and  frighten  one  an- 
other. On  cold  dull  days  we  stayed  indoors,  acting 
charades,  or  sitting  contentedly  round  the  big  din- 
ing-room table  covered  with  oil-cloth,  telling  stories 
in  turn,  laughing  and  chattering,  so  perfectly  happy 
and  at  our  ease  in  these  modest  surroundings,  and 
learning  more  French  in  half-an-hour  than  in  a 
whole  week's  lessons. 

The  eldest  daughter,  Marie,  was  almost  grown  up, 
but  I  was  especially  fond  of  her,  she  was  the  leader 
in  all  our  games,  and  told  us  most  delightful  stories. 
Her  next  sister,  Minna,  was  more  reserved,  and  did 
not  care  to  join  in  our  play,  but  then  came  two,  just 
of  our  own  age,  Cecile  and  Charlotte.     The  last- 

183 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

named,  who  died  quite  young,  was  the  sweetest  little 
creature,  and  I  still  see  her  flying  to  meet  us,  with 
her  long  fair  curls  streaming  behind  her,  and  fling- 
ing her  arms  round  us  both  in  her  joy  to  welcome  us. 
The  only  son,  a  gentle,  dreamy  lad,  of  a  serious  turn 
of  mind,  afterwards  became  a  pastor.  Marie  after- 
wards married  the  son  of  the  celebrated  preacher, 
Adolphe  Monod,  whose  sermons  were  so  much  talked 
of,  that  it  was  a  great  disappointment  to  me  not  to 
be  taken  to  hear  him,  but  my  mother  would  not 
consent  to  our  going  to  church  before  we  had 
attained  our  twelfth  year. 

The  French  Protestants  gave  me  the  impression 
at  the  time  of  being  rather  stiff  and  formal  people, 
austere  and  almost  morose  in  their  religious  views, 
though  I  really  hardly  know  what  it  was  made  me 
think  so,  as  we  never  heard  them  discuss  religious 
matters  at  all.  We  simply  came  there  to  play,  and 
enjoyed  ourselves  thoroughly,  and  if  the  gloomy 
appearance  of  the  parents  was  sometimes  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  high  spirits  of  our  little  companions, 
that  may  of  course  have  been  due  to  quite  other 
causes  than  a  depressing  creed,  and  I  have  often 
thought  since  that  with  the  large  family  and  very 
small  means,  there  were  probably  material  cares 
whose  existence  we  did  not  even  suspect.  Of  cares 
of  that  nature  we  knew  nothing;  we  had  others,  in 
our  own  home  life,  of  which  of  course  we  never  spoke 
to  our  little  friends,  and  they  very  likely  used  equal 
retion  concerning  their  family  troubles  towards 
us.  Children  who  have  never  been  encouraged  to 
chatter,  nor  had  the  evil  example  of  gossip  before 

184 


THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

their  eyes,  are  naturally  discreet,  and  very  great 
reserve  was  always  impressed  on  us  by  our  parents. 

The  good  custom  of  the  weekly  half -holiday,  with 
which  we  became  acquainted  in  Paris,  was  found  to 
be  so  beneficial,  sending  us  back  refreshed  and  in- 
vigorated to  our  lessons  next  day,  that,  once  intro- 
duced, it  was  not  given  up  on  our  return  to  Neuwied, 
but  became  firmly  established  with  us.  The  after- 
noon then  was,  however,  no  longer  entirely  devoted 
to  play,  but  a  part  of  it  employed  for  those  delight- 
ful lessons  in  book-binding — only  another  form  of 
recreation,  and  perhaps,  of  more  lasting  enjoyment 
than  the  running  wild,  good  as  that  was  at  the  time. 

Every  Saturday  I  attended  a  class  in  the  rue  des 
Saints  Peres,  le  cours  de  I' Abbe  Gaultier,  it  was 
called,  and  to  this  also  I  walked,  accompanied  by 
Fraulein  Josse.  The  professor,  the  Abbe  Gaultier, 
sat  at  a  green  table,  round  which  all  the  young 
girls  were  ranged,  behind  each  one  her  mother  or 
governess  sitting,  and  then  we  were  questioned  on 
the  lessons  done  during  the  week  and  our  written 
work  was  examined,  and  fresh  subjects  given  to  pre- 
pare for  the  following  week.  It  was  rather  an 
ordeal  for  me,  with  my  invincible  shyness,  and  accus- 
tomed as  I  had  always  been  to  learning  alone,  to 
have  to  speak  out  before  all  these  strangers,  and  in 
a  language  that  after  all  was  not  my  mother-tongue. 
And  some  of  the  other  little  girls  were  so  bright  and 
clever,  they  always  had  something  to  say  and  turned 
their  answers  so  prettily,  the  poor  little  German 
envied  them  their  readiness  and  brilliancy,  and  felt 
quite  dull  and  awkward  in  their  midst.    Only  once 

185 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

did  I  bear  off  the  honours,  but  that  was  not  in  the 
least  by  my  cleverness  or  presence  of  mind,  but 
simply  by  sheer  honest  stupidity. 

We  had  just  been  told  in  the  grammar  lesson  to 
form  a  sentence  in  the  imperfect  tense,  to  show  that 
we  understood  the  right  use  of  the  imperfect.  Here 
I  was  on  my  own  ground,  for  I  at  once  made  a  sen- 
tence bringing  in  two  imperfects,  and  waited  in 
burning  impatience  for  it  to  be  my  turn  to  reply, 
feeling  this  time  sure  of  my  jeton.  These 
" counters"  or  good-marks  were  given  for  every  cor- 
rect answer,  and  twenty  of  them  made  up  what  was 
called  a  presidence,  twenty  of  whichagain  entitled  to  a 
brevet,  or  certificate  with  a  seal  attached,  the  highest 
honour  of  all.  I  was  in  two  classes,  for  certain  sub- 
jects with  little  girls  of  my  own  age,  but  had  been 
put  into  a  higher  one  for  history,  in  order  that  I 
might  learn  French  history  very  thoroughly,  and 
this  it  was  that  stood  in  my  way,  for  history  was  my 
aversion  and  dates  a  stumbling-block  to  me — I  never 
could  remember  a  single  one! — My  failures  in  this 
field  I  however  made  up  for  in  the  grammar  lesson, 
which  was  already  my  passion,  and  my  lips  were 
quivering  with  impatience  to  bring  out  my  example 
of  the  imperfect  tense.  At  last  the  Abbe  Gaultier 
looked  in  my  direction.  "Quand  j'etais  petite,  je  ne 
reflechissais  pas!"  The  good  priest  came  close  up 
to  me: — "Et  maintenant?"  I  turned  crimson,  but 
blurted  out  quite  honestly:  "Maintenant  je  ne 
reflechis  pas  non  plus!" — The  whole  room  burst 
out  laughing,  but  the  professor  quietly  placed  one  of 
the  much-coveted  red  counters  before  me  with  the 

1S6 


THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

words:  "Tenez,  mon  enfant;  viola  dix  jetons,  pour 
votre  jolie  phrase  et  pour  votre  naive  reponse!" 
And  thanks  to  this  I  really  did  get  the  brevet  at  last, 
of  which  I  had  again  nearly  been  deprived  by  the 
unlucky  history-lesson. 

My  painful  timidity  made  the  classes  somewhat  of 
a  trial  to  me ;  I  felt  ill  beforehand  at  the  thought  of 
having  to  answer  questions  in  public  as  it  were,  I 
hated  to  have  to  play  the  piano  before  people,  and  as 
for  an  examination,  I  should  never  have  been  able 
to  pass  even  a  very  easy  one !  I  have  been  the  same 
my  whole  life  long,  and  I  laughed  heartily  one  day 
at  the  perspicacity  of  one  of  our  Ministers,  who 
after  accompanying  me  on  a  visit  to  some  school, 
told  me  with  a  smile,  when  the  inspection,  speech- 
making,  and  prize-giving  were  all  happily  over,  that 
he  believed  there  had  been  only  one  person  who  felt 
intimidated  in  the  whole  assembly,  and  that  was 
myself!  It  was  quite  true;  I  was  afraid  to  put  any 
questions  to  the  children  lest  they  should  answer 
wrong,  and  was  much  too  anxious  on  their  behalf,  to 
pay  any  attention  to  what  they  did  say.  On  such  occa- 
sions I  always  remember  my  own  troubles  with  those 
wretched  chronological  tables,  with  which  my  poor 
memory  was  to  be  burdened !  And  then  the  horrors 
of  arithmetic!  The  cells,  whose  function  it  should 
be  to  deal  with  numbers  and  calculations,  must  be 
altogether  lacking  in  my  brain!  Perhaps  if  such 
dreary  subjects  could  have  been  taught  me  in  verse, 
I  might  have  learnt  something,  for  it  is  hard  for  me 
to  forget  any  little  tag  of  verse  I  have  ever  heard, 

187 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  I  remember  every  one  of  those  that  formed 
a  summary  of  the  chapters  in  our  first  simple  little 
books  of  history.  If  only  they  had  thought  of  teach- 
ing me  dates  in  rhyme,  I  should  not  be  so  shockingly 
ignorant  as  I  have  remained  to  this  day! 

It  was  I  suppose,  because  of  my  intense  love  of 
poetry,  and  that  I  felt  so  perfectly  in  my  native  ele- 
ment there,  that  my  shyness  always  left  me  directly 
I  had  to  read  aloud  or  recite.  I  felt  sure  of  myself 
then,  and  threw  myself  with  passion  into  the  verses 
I  declaimed.  We  learned  long  poems  by  heart, 
"The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  Schiller's  "Lay  of  the 
Bell,"  whatever  we  liked,  and  in  whatever  language 
we  preferred,  and  recited  them  every  Sunday  to  our 
parents,  to  our  own  great  delight.  My  mother  de- 
claimed so  admirably  herself,  that  she  was  by  no 
means  easy  to  please,  she  insisted  on  good  elocution, 
and  showed  us  how  by  modulation  of  the  voice  to 
give  the  right  expression  to  the  words.  We  were 
all  apt  pupils,  I  fancy;  what  delicious  drollery  poor 
little  Otto  put  into  Burger's  poem,  "Emperor  and 
Abbot,"  when  he  was  only  five  years  old! 

For  all  my  shyness  I  had,  before  we  left  Paris, 
grown  quite  reconciled  to  the  lessons  in  a  big  class, 
feeling  how  much  more  easily  one  learns  together 
with  companions  of  one's  own  age,  even  if  the  in- 
centive of  rivalry,  perhaps  too  active  with  some  of 
these,  played  a  very  small  part  in  my  own  case. 
This  little  taste  of  school-life  made  my  lonely  les- 
sons seem  so  dull  to  me  afterwards,  that  I  was 
always  longing  to  have  a  peep  at  a  real  school,  not 

188 


THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

this  time  a  fashionable  cours,  like  that  I  had 
attended  in  Paris,  but  a  simple  village  school,  full  of 
little  peasant  children.  So  one  morning  I  actually- 
managed  to  steal  out  of  the  house  unseen,  and  run- 
ning away  as  hard  as  I  could,  I  joined  the  children 
from  the  home-farm  on  their  way  to  school.  Oh! 
how  I  enjoyed  myself!  I  sat  on  the  bench  between 
the  farmer's  little  boy  and  girl,  and  joined  in  the 
singing  with  the  whole  strength  of  my  lungs,  though 
the  small  girl  kept  trying  to  put  her  hand  before  my 
mouth,  for  she  thought  it  highly  improper  that  a 
princess  should  be  singing  with  peasant  children! 
It  was  a  glorious  day;  but  the  most  glorious  day 
must  come  to  an  end,  and  this  one  ended  sadly  for 
me,  for  when  I  was  missed,  my  parents  were  fright- 
ened to  death,  and  the  hue  and  cry  was  raised,  and 
servants  and  game-keepers  sent  out  in  all  direc- 
tions, till  at  last  I  was  found,  seated  in  triumph  in 
the  midst  of  the  village  school,  and  putting  my  whole 
heart  and  soul  into  the  singing!  I  was  shut  up  in 
my  room  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  as  a  punishment  for 
the  alarm  I  had  given,  and  I  was  in  such  disgrace 
for  some  time  afterwards,  that  I  was  terribly 
ashamed  of  my  escapade,  and  hardly  liked  to  think 
of  it  any  more,  much  less  to  plan  another ;  but  now, 
when  I  look  back,  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  that  for 
once  in  my  childhood  I  did  break  through  my  fetters 
and  emancipate  myself  so  thoroughly ! 

That  was  the  year  after  our  return  from  Paris. 
The  next  year,  Marie  Valette  came  on  a  visit  to  us, 
and  we  spent  many  pleasant  hours  together,  reading 

189 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  working.  I  was  very  busy  at  needlework  just 
then,  principally  plain  sewing,  for  our  hospital,  and 
very  proud  I  was  at  my  contribution,  all  of  useful 
things  I  had  made  myself,  underclothing  for  the 
poor  people,  which  I  was  able  to  take  them.  While 
Marie  and  I  sat  at  work,  Fraulein  Jose  read  aloud 
to  us,  and  that  somewhat  recalled  the  pleasant  days 
in  Paris,  when  we  met  at  her  parents'  house,  and 
all  sat  round  the  big  table,  while  one  of  the  party 
told  or  read  a  story  to  the  rest.  And  these  simple 
pleasures  of  my  youth  are  still  those  I  prefer — beau- 
tiful needlework  with  agreeable  conversation,  or 
a  good  book  read  aloud,  in  a  sympathetic  circle.  I 
am  still  very  fond  of  reading  aloud  myself,  and  can 
do  that  to  a  very  large  audience.  It  is  perhaps  the 
only  time  when  I  quite  forget  my  shyness ! 

But  I  did  forget  it  as  a  child  too,  at  times,  and 
above  all  in  the  society  of  good,  kind,  simple  people 
like  the  Valettes,  who  just  left  us  to  ourselves,  to 
amuse  ourselves  in  our  own  way.  For  that  reason, 
it  would  have  been  ungrateful  indeed,  if  I  had  not 
given  a  corner  among  my  Penates  to  Marie  and  her 
family.  The  whole  remembrance  is  a  pleasant  one, 
beginning  with  the  long  walk  through  the  streets  of 
Paris,  which  we  learned  to  know  so  well,  we  could 
almost  have  found  our  way  through  them  blindfold. 
And  the  merry  party  round  the  dinner-table,  for  we 
dined  there,  and  only  returned  home  quite  late  in  the 
evening.  Our  garden  was  too  small  for  the  other 
children  to  come  to  play  in  it  with  us,  and  then  it 
would   have   disturbed    the   invalids,   who   had,    of 

190 


THE  FAMILY  VALETTE 

course,  to  be  considered  first.  Both  for  the  sake  of 
the  sick  people,  and  of  my  father's  work,  it  was  no 
place  for  noisy  games  and  joyous  laughter;  we  had 
to  creep  about  like  little  mice,  and  it  was  indeed  a 
relief  to  us  to  get  away,  to  escape  into  a  fresher 
atmosphere,  and  shake  off  all  the  sadness  that 
oppressed  our  young  souls.  To  have  been  aided  to 
this  was  an  inestimable  boon,  and  I  still  think  with 
affection  and  gratitude  of  those,  to  whom  we  owed 
those  happy  hours. 


CHAPTER  XII 

KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT-PAINTER 

If  ever  a  face  on  this  earth  may  be  said  to  have 
been  irradiated  and  illumined  by  the  light  of  genu- 
ine kindliness — of  the  pure  goodness  of  heart  that 
transcends  all  other  human  qualities — it  was  the 
countenance  of  our  beloved  friend,  Karl  Sohn,  the 
Dtisseldorf  artist.  His  features  were  not  regular, 
but  were  refined  and  spiritualised  by  the  beauty  of 
the  soul  that  shone  through,  the  gentleness  of  his 
physiognomy  being  only  enhanced  by  the  command- 
ing character  of  the  lofty,  well-chiselled  brow, 
shaded  as  this  was  by  soft  masses  of  thick  fair  hair. 
He  was  tall  of  stature,  well  proportioned  and  of  dig- 
nified bearing,  his  step  light  and  easy,  in  spite  of 
his  great  height,  and  with  something  almost  wil- 
lowy in  his  gait ;  every  movement  was  impregnated 
with  grace  and  harmony.  There  was  a  peculiar 
charm  in  his  conversation,  and  this  may  probably 
have  been  in  great  measure  due  to  the  soft  deep 
tones  of  his  finely  modulated  voice,  as  clear  and 
caressing  as  the  sound  of  a  silver  bell,  wrapt  in 
velvet.  But  much  of  the  fascination  doubtless  lay 
in  the  graceful  and  appropriate  gestures  with  which 
he  accompanied  his  words,  and  which  lent  singular 
force  to  his  graphic  descriptions.  Thus,  in  expatiat- 
ing on  the  beauties  of  some  landscape,  words  and 
action  seemed  to  go  together  to  call  it  up  before  our 
eyes,  one  broad  sweep  of  his  well-shaped  hand  mak- 

192 


KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT-PAINTER 

ing  the  undulating  line  of  the  distant  mountain- 
range  visible  to  everyone. 

What  a  pleasure  it  was  to  listen  to  that  mellow 
voice,  and  to  the  low  laugh  with  which  he  sometimes 
interrupted  his  own  stories.  Sohn  was  one  of  those 
exceptional,  happily  constituted  beings,  themselves 
so  perfectly  harmonious,  that  their  presence  seems 
to  diffuse  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  contentment, 
into  which  as  each  one  enters  he  feels  on  better  terms 
with  himself  and  others.  The  world  was  full  of 
beauty  for  him,  as  it  is  for  few  of  us,  and  the  joy 
he  felt  in  every  aspect  of  the  beautiful — in  Nature, 
in  children,  in  the  human  form  divine,  and  in  pleas- 
ant companionship — was,  like  the  whole  nature  of 
the  man,  at  once  ingenuous  and  profound.  He  had 
laid  out  for  himself  a  little  garden  round  his  house 
in  Diisseldorf,  with  so  much  skill,  that  the  small 
space  really  looked  like  a  miniature  park.  The 
effect  was  charming;  but  the  proprietor  seemed 
almost  to  find  it  necessary  to  apologise  for  such  a 
display  of  luxury,  saving  deprecatingly, — ''The 
beautiful  is  a  necessary  condition  of  existence  to  us 
poor  artists !  So  indispensable  is  it  to  us,  that  we 
would  willingly  make  every  other  sacrifice,  just 
to  be  able  to  surround  ourselves  with  things  of 
beauty ! ' f 

It  was  through  his  pupil,  my  great-uncle  Charles, 
that  we  first  became  acquainted  with  Sohn.  My 
uncle,  who  had  been  a  musical  dilettante  for  the  first 
fifty  years  of  his  life,  attaining  I  believe  a  certain 
proficiency  on  the  French  horn,  had  recently  turned 
his  attention  to  painting,  in  which  art  he  was  still 
13  193 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

a  mere  tyro  at  the  time  of  my  parents'  marriage. 
At  first  he  was  always  sending  for  Sohn,  to  ask  his 
criticism  and  advice,  and  by  sheer  hard  work  and 
perseverance  he  succeeded  in  the  end  in  painting 
very  good  portraits.  There  was  one  of  my  mother, 
for  which  she  declared  she  sat  to  him  no  less  than 
seventy-five  times.  To  beguile  the  tedium  of  those 
long  sittings,  she  learned  by  heart  the  parts  she 
was  going  to  play  in  private  theatricals,  repeating 
the  lines  aloud  without  fear  of  disturbing  the  artist, 
who  was  quite  absorbed  in  his  work,  and  very  hard 
of  hearing  into  the  bargain.  But  in  the  one  play 
occurred  a  phrase  so  singularly  appropriate,  that 
she  could  not  resist  raising  her  voice  for  it  to  reach 
the  ears  of  the  deaf  old  man,  who  peeped  out  aston- 
ished from  behind  his  easel  and  shook  his  finger 
at  her,  as  she  exclaimed: — "Dear  Uncle!  must  I 
then  really  be  bored  to  death!"  And  her  subse- 
quent assurance  that  this  was  only  in  her  part  only 
half  mollified  him.  In  spite  of  the  long  sittings, 
the  portrait  was  not  a  success;  it  however  brought 
Sohn  to  our  house,  and  two  admirable  pictures  of 
my  mother  by  him  represent  her  in  all  her  youthful 
bloom  at  that  period.  The  one  is  in  a  red  velvet 
dress,  her  face  framed  in  a  mass  of  fair  curls;  the 
other  in  her  riding-habit,  just  as  he  had  seen  her 
jump  down  from  her  horse,  flushed  with  the  exercise 
of  a  long  ride. 

Tli esc  were  the  first  two  pictures  Sohn  painted 
in  our  family,  but  he  was  henceforth  every  year  a 
welcome  visitor,  often  making  a  stay  of  many  weeks 
among  us,  and  painting  more  than  one  portrait  of 

104 


KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT -PAINTER 

each  member  of  the  family.    He  was  inspired  to  his 
finest  work,  one  of  his  many  portraits  of  my  mother 
— by  seeing  her  in  the  ecstatic  trance.     So  deeply 
had  this  impressed  him,  that  it  was  almost  under 
similar  conditions  that  he  worked,   altogether  re- 
moved from  this  earthly  plane,  blind  and  deaf  to  all 
that  went  on  around  him,  and  entirely  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  radiant,  transfigured  coun- 
tenance of  his  model,  and  in  the  feverish  effort  to 
transfer  to  his  canvas  some  faint  reflection  of  the 
wondrous  radiance  diffused  over  her  whole  person. 
In  his  despair  of  obtaining  this  effect  from  the  ordi- 
nary resources  of  his  palette,  he  was  forever  seeking 
some  new  means,  devising  some  new  combination  of 
colour,  he  would  fain  have  dipped  his  brush  in  pure 
light,  have  steeped  the  whole  picture  in  unclouded 
sunshine!     Something  of  this  has  been  felt  by  all 
those  who  have  striven,  with  like  fidelity  and  with 
the  same  gross  materials,  to  copy  the  dazzling  hues 
even  of  some  simple  flower ;  has  one  but  tried,  with 
such  poor  pigments,  with  our  muddy  bismuths  and 
dingy  ochres,  to  reproduce  the  lily's  transparent 
whiteness  or  the  rich  gold  of  the  humble  buttercup, 
we  can  the  better  appreciate  the  vanity  of  all  at- 
tempts  at   imitating   on   so   feeble   and   limited   a 
scale,  the  radiant  tints  and  subtle,  endless  grada- 
tions of  Nature's  colour-box,  employed  by  the  Di- 
vine Artist!    We  must  needs  perforce,  for  lack  of 
the  clear  strong  light,  throw  up  our  dim  half-lights 
and  faded  colours  by  deeper  shadows.     But  Sohn 
for  this  once  would  none  of  such  artifice.     Disdain- 
ing every  expedient  of  contrast,  he  laid  on  the 

195 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

colours  simply  and  boldly,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Early  Masters,  painting  with  the  pious  enthusiasm, 
the  sacred  fire  that  was  theirs,  and  borrowing  some- 
thing of  their  technical  methods  to  impart  the  ex- 
pression of  holy  rapture  to  the  face,  a  diaphanous 
delicacy  to  the  folded  hands,  to  give  to  the  kneeling 
figure  the  semblance  of  a  martyr  at  the  stake,  a  saint 
to  whose  beatific  vision  the  gates  of  Heaven  are  flung 
open  wide! 

Sohn  made  a  picture  of  my  brother  Wilhelm  and 
myself,  at  four  and  five  years  of  age,  hand  in  hand ; 
such  a  speaking  likeness,  that  as  we  stood  beside  it 
holding  a  big  wreath  of  flowers,  when  it  was  given  to 
my  father  on  his  birthday,  he  kept  looking  from 
the  painting  to  us,  and  then  back  again  to  the  pic- 
ture— quite  puzzled  for  a  moment,  he  assured  us, 
as  to  which  were  the  real  children  and  which  their 
portrait !  Such  restless  beings  as  small  children  can 
never  be  very  easy  to  paint;  but  Sohn  succeeded 
wonderfully  in  catching  the  expression  on  each  little 
face, — my  brother's  serious  and  dreamy,  with  an 
almost  stolid  determination  to  keep  quiet,  and  mine, 
all  life  and  movement,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  a 
dancing  smile,  that  betokened  anything  but  the 
requisite  immobility  of  pose.  It  was  an  amusing 
contrast;  Wilhelm  stood  firm  as  a  rock,  whilst  all 
my  efforts  to  keep  still  as  I  was  bidden  only  made 
me  tremble  from  head  to  foot  with  impatience,  and 
at  one  sitting  resulted  in  my  fainting  away  after  I 
had  actually  accomplished  the  feat  of  keeping  in  the 
same  position  for  five  consecutive  minutes!  I  re- 
member how  alarmed  the  artist  was,  when  I  sud- 

196 


KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT-PAINTER 

denly  fell  from  my  chair  to  the  floor,  in  a  dead 
faint,  and  how  concerned  he  was  about  me,  reproach- 
ing himself  with  the  unnatural  constraint  imposed 
on  my  mercurial  nature  by  the  sittings.  But  what 
surprised  him  most  of  all,  was  to  witness  the  means 
employed  to  bring  me  round;  as  I  recovered  con- 
sciousness, a  sip  of  cold  water,  a  little  piece  of  black 
bread  were  given  me  by  my  mother  to  revive  me, 
and  Sohn,  who  was  not  then  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  Spartan  simplicity  of  our  bringing  up,  felt 
amazed,  as  he  afterwards  told  us,  at  the  homeliness 
of  the  measures.  Little  princesses,  he  thought, 
were  always  fed  on  dainties,  and  would  not  con- 
descend to  eat  anything  less  appetising  than  cake ! 

The  torture  those  sittings  were  to  me,  I  hope  he 
never  knew.  He  was  so  good  and  kind,  and  did  so 
much  to  make  them  bearable,  whiling  away  the  time 
by  talking  to  us  and  telling  us  amusing  stories,  or 
getting  someone  else  to  read  an  entertaining  book 
aloud  to  us  while  he  painted.  But  it  was  all  no 
good.  Outside  I  could  see  the  sun  shining,  and  hear 
the  birds  singing  and  the  wind  whistling  through  the 
trees,  and  I — who  longed  to  be  out  there  in  the  sun- 
shine, singing  with  the  birds,  and  running  races  with 
the  wind, — I  must  be  cooped  up  within  four  walls,  in 
a  room  that  instead  of  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers, 
smelt  of  nasty  oil-colours !  It  was  not  to  be  borne. 
As  well  try  to  imprison  the  wild  west  wind,  or  stop 
the  dancing  mountain-stream  in  its  course!  I  was 
just  as  wild  and  free,  and  my  mother  sometimes 
asked  if  any  power  on  earth  could  be  found  to  tame 
me.    Had  she  but  known!      All  too  soon  a  spell 

197 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

would  be  worked,  transforming  the  wayward  child 
into  a  quiet  gentle  maiden,  grave-eyed  and  serious. 
It  was  by  the  discipline  of  sorrow  that  the  change 
should  be  wrought— in  the  sick-room  that  the  lesson 
must  be  learnt ;  there  I  could  sit  for  hours,  silent  and 
motionless,  dreading  lest  a  movement,  a  whisper 
should  disturb  the  dear  sufferer  beside  whose  pillow 
I  watched. 

But  already  then,  in  my  wildest,  most  reckless 
mood,  and  however  my  spirit  might  chafe  at  the 
enforced  immobility  of  the  lengthy  sittings,  I  felt  the 
soothing  influence  of  the  artist's  gentle  voice,  and 
the  deep  full  tones  could  lull  my  feverish  impatience. 
Nor  did  the  impression  wear  off  as  time  went  on; 
echoes  of  that  sympathetic  voice  live  in  my  memory, 
calling  up  many  a  bygone  scene — long  talks  as  we 
rambled  through  the  forest,  dreams  and  aspirations, 
hopes  and  fears,  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  those 
vanished  days, — Sohn's  memory  is  inseparably  asso- 
ciated with  all  of  these.  The  portraits  he  painted 
extend  over  a  long  series  of  years.  One  of  Otto 
was  done  just  before  the  poor  boy's  death — my 
father's  also,  at  a  time  when  we  knew  that  he  had  not 
long  to  live  among  us — my  mother  he  depicted  at  all 
times  and  seasons,  and  under  all  possible  circum- 
stances, from  ecstasy  to  the  deepest  mourning.  He 
used  to  say,  that  he  hoped  to  live  long  enough  to 
make  one  more  portrait  of  her  with  snow-white  hair. 
But  this  wish  remained  unfulfilled,  for  my  mother's 
hair  had  not  yet  turned  grey,  when  he  was  called 
away  from  us. 

One  autumn  Sohn  came  to  us  accompanied  by  his 

198 


KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT- PAINTER 

friend,  the  great  artist,  Lessing.  The  latter,  a  very 
handsome  man,  like  so  many  of  the  followers  of  Art, 
was  extremely  taciturn.  He  was  a  good  sportsman, 
shooting  his  deer  almost  daily.  Much  as  I  dislike 
all  sport,  my  admiration  of  the  artist  induced  me 
to  bring  him  the  proverbial  good  luck,  by  meeting 
him  as  if  by  chance  when  he  set  out  in  the  early 
morn  with  his  gun.  As  I  passed  with  a  smiling 
though  silent  greeting,  I  thought  to  myself  that  had 
he  but  known  my  horror  of  the  slaughter  of  innocent 
dumb  creatures,  the  great  painter  would  have  been 
still  more  flattered  by  this  attention  on  the  part  of 
the  daughter  of  the  house.  This  was  after  Otto's 
death,  and  Lessing  made  a  sketch  of  the  grave  for 
my  mother,  with  the  wonderful  precision  in  render- 
ing every  detail  that  characterised  him.  Every 
branch  of  the  trees  overshadowing  the  tomb  was 
portrayed  with  lifelike  fidelity;  Lessing's  scrupulous 
exactitude  refusing  to  sanction  the  slightest  devia- 
tion from  the  original.  Every  bough,  every  twig 
must  be  in  its  place ;  even  in  a  landscape  his  veracity 
would  not  tolerate  any  suppression  or  addition. 
His  realism,  his  close  copying  of  Nature,  was 
coupled  with  a  fear  of  accepting  any  other  teacher ; 
and  he  had  always  been  afraid  to  visit  Italy,  lest  he 
should  sacrifice  something  of  his  own  originality 
to  the  involuntary  imitation  of  the  Old  Masters. 

When  I  grew  up,  Sohn  wished  to  make  a  portrait 
of  me,  as  he  often  saw  me,  sitting  in  the  shadow  of 
a  tree,  a  straw  hat  on  my  head,  in  my  simple  morning 
attire.  But  it  was  unfortunately  quite  another  pic- 
ture that  was  wanted — in  evening  dress,  in  the  draw- 

199 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

ing-room — just  something  that  I  hated,  and  that 
seemed  to  me  so  little  like  myself.  Sohn,  who  had 
known  me  from  a  child,  understood  this,  and  his 
idea  was  the  true  one.  I  shall  always  regret  that 
picture  that  never  was  painted,  it  would  have  shown 
me  exactly  as  I  was,  at  that  period  of  my  life.  I 
was  the  child  of  the  forest,  the  forest-song,  and 
have  never  wished  to  be  aught  else.  The  untamed 
and  untamable  in  my  nature,  from  which  some  good 
folk  shrank  in  alarm,  was  just  what  pleased  our  kind 
artist-friend.  Others  might  find  my  high  spirits 
fatiguing,  they  were  never  so  to  him.  My  sponta- 
neity, my  frankness,  refreshed  him,  and  his  heart 
melted  towards  this  poor  little  child  of  Nature,  who 
was  to  be  forced  against  her  will  to  become  conven- 
tional— and  even,  without  her  knowing  it,  was  being 
already  educated  to  fit  her  for  a  throne !  Anything 
rather  than  that,  I  should  have  said — for  choice,  a 
cottage,  a  little  house  hidden  away  in  a  wood — for 
I  was  not  ambitious,  at  least  my  ambition  took  quite 
another  direction.  What  could  all  worldly  pomp 
mean  to  me,  who  had  revelled  in  the  forest-splen- 
dours, in  the  glories  of  Nature!  The  beeches  of 
our  lofty  avenues  would  dwarf  the  finest  columns 
ever  reared  to  support  a  roof,  and  how  poor  and 
insignificant  the  hubbub  of  the  crowd  must  sound, 
to  ears  accustomed  to  the  mighty  music  of  the  storm- 
wind,  making  the  tall  trees  bend  and  quiver  in  its 
path !  In  all  this  Sohn  was  of  my  way  of  thinking, 
and  he  had  quick  perceptions  of  the  quieter  beauties 
of  Nature  too,  and  never  missed  pointing  out  to  me 
a  single  blossom  sprouting,  or  an  effect  of  sunlight 

200 


KARL  SOHN,  THE  PORTRAIT-PAINTER 

through  the  intertwining  branches.  And  he  led  me 
on  to  talk  and  pour  out  my  confidences  to  him,  and 
often  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  some  unexpected 
sally.  I  was  well  willing,  I  told  him,  to  devote  my- 
self to  the  service  of  my  fellow-creatures,  but  not 
from  a  throne;  I  would  live  in  their  midst,  to  tend 
and  comfort  them.  And  the  thought  of  marriage 
was  hateful  to  me,  for  a  husband,  it  seemed  to  me, 
must  be  a  master,  a  sort  of  tyrant,  but  children  I 
loved,  and  wished  that  I  might  have  a  dozen ! 

How  heartily  Sohn  would  laugh  at  all  this,  and 
then  grow  serious  again,  and  crown  my  hair  with 
glow-worms,  as  we  strolled  home  through  the  twi- 
light. I  sang  like  the  birds  in  those  days,  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  word,  for  every  verse  I  made  I 
sang  to  myself,  in  the  joy  of  my  heart.  My  life 
was  full  of  poetry  indeed — of  poetry  fostered  by  the 
surroundings.  I  have  always  thought  that  the  hap- 
piest lot  on  earth  is  that  of  the  mediatised  princes. 
They  are  like  little  kings,  but  without  the  cares  of 
government,  enjoying  the  same  liberty  as  people  in 
private  life,  yet  with  a  patriarchal  interest  in  the 
weal  and  woe  of  all  their  people.  Such  happy  mor- 
tals are  generally  beloved  from  their  birth,  their 
fortune  suffices  for  their  needs  without  awakening 
envy  in  others,  and  they  have  opportunities  for  in- 
dulging intellectual  and  artistic  tastes,  such  as  few 
others  possess.  Their  country  seat  is  generally 
some  old  castle,  to  which  historic  memories  attach, 
probably  with  a  fine  library  or  picture  gallery,  and 
archeological  treasures  perhaps  beneath  the  soil. 
As  patrons  of  Art,  as  hosts  to  a  company  of  well- 

201 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

chosen  guests,  as  friends  of  scholars  and  men  of  let- 
ters, as  descendants  of  forefathers  renowned  for 
talents  and  virtues,  they  are  privileged  beyond  all 
others.  And  friends  like  Sohn  must  be  counted 
among  their  best  treasures ! 

A  portrait-painter,  worthy  of  the  name,  must  gen- 
erally be  a  good  psychologist,  for  he  must  study  his 
models  well,  and  learn  their  character  through  the 
physiognomy. 

I  shall  never  forget  a  day  Sohn  spent  with  us  at 
Altwied,  the  lovely  old  ruined  castle,  which  was  the 
cradle  of  our  family.  It  stands  shut  in  by  high 
hills  on  a  little  peninsula  formed  by  the  meander- 
ings  of  the  Wiedbach,  the  mountain  stream.  Many 
a  dream  have  I  dreamt  within  those  crumbling  walls, 
of  which  much  more  was  standing  then,  but  on  the 
day  in  question  we  came,  I  know  not  how,  to  speak 
of  the  opera,  "la  Dame  Blanche,"  and  as  we  all  lay 
stretched  on  the  grass,  Sohn  related  the  story.  So 
poetically,  so  touchingly  did  he  tell  of  the  young 
man's  return  to  the  castle  of  his  ancestors,  and  of 
the  long-forgotten  song  that  stirs  in  his  memory  as 
he  crosses  the  threshold — I  was  carried  away  by  it, 
and  the  actual  performance  of  the  opera,  which  I 
witnessed  some  years  later,  fell  very  flat  in  compari- 
son. The  glare  of  the  foot-lights,  the  painted  scen- 
ery, the  stiffness  of  the  acting,  destroyed  the  beauty 
of  the  story  as  first  revealed  to  me  through  the 
medium  of  an  artist's  soul,  and  on  the  picturesque 
site  to  which  it  seemed  naturally  to  belong. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WEIZCHEN 

In  former  days  nurses  and  waiting-women  in  the 
princely  families  were  themselves  gentlewomen.  It 
was  rightly  deemed  all-essential  for  children,  only 
to  come  in  contact  with  people  of  good  breeding, 
that  they  might  never  incur  the  danger  of  acquiring 
bad  manners.  It  was  thus  that  the  sister  of  Gen- 
eral Weiz,  a  young  and  accomplished  woman, 
became  my  mother's  nurse  soon  after  my  grand- 
mother's death,  and  stayed  on  in  charge  of  the 
younger  children  for  many  years  after  my  grand- 
father's second  marriage.  Later  on,  when  these 
also  were  growing  up,  Fraulein  Weiz  accompanied 
my  mother  to  Neuwied,  where  she  remained  as 
housekeeper  for  many  years,  and  where  we  all  grew 
much  attached  to  her. 

Weizchen,  as  she  was  always  affectionately  called 
in  both  families,  was  young  and  very  pretty  when 
she  entered  the  ducal  household,  blest  moreover  with 
a  very  fine  voice,  which  my  grandmother  had  had 
carefully  cultivated,  but  which  its  possessor  had 
never  felt  the  slightest  wish  to  display  on  the  stage 
or  in  the  concert-room,  contenting  herself  with  the 
pleasure  her  talent  was  able  to  bestow  in  a  smaller 
circle.  She  soon  made  herself  beloved  in  her  post 
in  Biebric,  but  just  at  first  my  mother  was  simply 
inconsolable  at  the  parting  with  her  dear  old  bonne, 
Mile.  Clausel,  by  whom  she  had  been  petted  and 

203 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

made  much  of  since  her  birth,  and  from  whom  she 
had  just  been  separated.  Weizchen's  beautiful  voice 
had  therefore  for  the  moment  no  charm  for  the 
little  girl,  although  it  excited  such  general  admira- 
tion, as  would  also  at  the  present  day  the  singer's 
magnificent  red  hair,  that  set  off  the  dazzling  white- 
ness of  her  skin,  but  which  was  then  looked  upon 
with  such  disfavour,  that  she  was  quite  glad  to  hide 
it  under  a  light  sprinkling  of  powder,  according  to 
prevailing  etiquette,  whenever  she  appeared  in  low 
dress,  with  the  children,  in  the  drawing-room. 

As  far  back  as  my  recollections  go,  Weizchen  was 
always  an  inmate  of  my  paternal  home,  having  very 
soon  followed  my  mother  there  after  the  latter 's 
marriage.  From  the  very  first  my  mother  was 
accompanied  by  Louise  von  Preen,  as  lady-in-wait- 
ing, and  very  amusing  tales  were  told  afterwards' 
of  the  home-sickness  of  the  two  young  things — 
barely  eighteen  years  of  age  either  of  them — in  their 
new  surroundings.  When  my  mother  in  a  moment 
of  loneliness  rushed  to  Louise's  room  for  comfort, 
she  found  the  poor  girl  seated  among  her  boxes, 
which  she  had  not  yet  had  the  heart  to  have  un- 
packed, crying  her  eyes  out.  They  sobbed  together, 
sighing  as  they  gazed  at  the  distant  hills,  beyond 
which  lay  their  old  home.  And  yet  that  home  was 
not  in  reality  so  very  far  away,  and  at  the  present 
day  could  easily  be  reached  in  a  couple  of  hours, 
though  to  their  romantic  feelings  they  seemed  to  be 
pining  for  it  in  distant  exile!  Very  soon,  however, 
the  young  bride  was  cheered  by  a  visit  from  her 
brothers,  and  after  that  gay  days  began  for  Neu- 

204 


WEIZCHEN 

wied,  the  castle  often  resounding  with  the  happy 
voices  and  ringing  laughter  of  the  merry  young 
people  assembled  within  its  walls. 

But  it  was  from  Weizchen  that  we  loved  to  hear 
anecdotes  of  my  mother's  childhood.  When  she  was 
only  three  years  old  her  life  was  saddened  by  the 
loss  of  the  little  brother,  just  a  year  older  than 
herself,  who  had  been  her  constant  companion. 
During  his  illness  it  was  the  poor  little  boy's  one 
delight  to  make  his  sister  dance  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  toy  harmonica  he  played,  propped  up 
among  the  pillows  in  his  bed,  and  Weizchen  said  it 
was  the  prettiest  sight  to  see  the  little  girl,  whose 
movements  had  already  all  the  lightness  and  natural 
grace  which  afterwards  earned  for  her  the  sobriquet 
of  the  Rhineland  Fairy  at  the  court  of  Berlin, 
dancing  away  indefatigably  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
poor  sick  child,  whose  eyes  wore  a  most  pathetic 
expression  as  they  watched  her.  Sad  and  lonely 
the  little  girl  was,  when  the  brother  had  gone.  The 
lives  of  little  princes  were  indeed  lonely  enough  at 
the  best  of  times  in  those  days,  for  once  out  of  the 
nursery  they  saw  but  little  of  one  another,  not  even 
having  their  meals  in  common,  but  each  child 
brought  up  quite  apart  from  the  rest  with  a  special 
tutor  or  governess,  with  whom  the  repasts  were 
taken,  tete-a-tete,  and  to  whose  tender  mercies  the 
pupil  was  somewhat  ruthlessly  abandoned.  In  my 
own  early  childhood  we  still  experienced  the  incon- 
veniences of  this  system  of  education,  but  the  transi- 
tion to  more  rational  and  humane  treatment  of  the 
young  was  already  taking  place,  and  children  even 

205 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

of  the  highest  rank  now-a-days  lead  happy  natural 
lives,  associating  with  others  of  their  age  and  con- 
stantly seeing  their  parents,  of  whom  they  no  longer 
stand  in  dread.  Quite  early  we  came  to  table  with 
our  parents,  but  that  was  very  uncommon,  and  in 
an  older  generation  still  would  have  been  thought 
impossible.  Of  course  in  very  many  cases  the  in- 
struction children  received  suffered  from  the  lack 
of  supervision,  and  some  of  these  young  people 
grew  up  deplorably  ignorant,  notwithstanding  very 
fair  natural  abilities.  My  highly  gifted  uncle  Mau- 
rice, for  instance — artist,  musician,  and  adept  at 
surgery — capable  it  seemed  of  learning  anything  to 
which  he  turned  his  attention,  was  yet  never  able  to 
pen  the  shortest  note  without  making  some  mistake 
in  spelling.  But  he  painted  and  composed,  as  a 
mere  dilettante  it  is  true,  but  with  very  decided 
talent,  and  with  the  same  grace  and  brilliancy  that 
he  brought  into  everything  else,  whether  losing  his 
money  to  his  male  friends  at  cards,  or  creating 
havoc  among  female  hearts  at  the  Viennese  Court, 
whither  he  had  been  sent  at  the  age  of  seventeen, 
and  where  he  soon  showed  himself  proficient  in  the 
various  accomplishments  supposed  to  be  befitting  a 
young  man  of  his  rank,  very  handsome  and  well- 
endowed  with  worldly  goods.  He  was  my  mother's 
idol,  and  made  the  little  sister  his  confidant — even 
of  his  love  affairs — at  a  very  early  age!  Very 
early  indeed  he  had  begun  practising  his  seductive 
arts  on  the  other  sex,  if  it  be  true  that  at  the  age 
of  ten,  seeing  one  of  his  mother's  young  maids-of- 
honour  in  tears, lie  sidled  up  to  her  in  his  mostcaress- 

206 


WEIZCHEN 

ing,  most  coaxing  way,  looking  up  in  her  face  with 
all  the  melting  tenderness  of  which  his  big  blue  eyes 
were  capable,  and  murmuring  persuasively: — "Do 
not  cry,  Louise;  you  know  I  shall  always  be  your 
friend ! ' ' 

But  it  was  a  little  later,  when  the  gay  handsome 
youth  had  really  begun  to  turn  female  heads,  that 
his  confidences  to  the  younger  sister  must  often  have 
assumed  a  very  amusing  character.  Fraulein  La- 
vater  once  found  her  little  pupil  dissolved  in  tears, 
and  it  was  only  after  reiterated  promises  of  secrecy 
on  the  part  of  the  governess,  that  the  child  at  last 
sobbed  out: — "Maurice  is  in  love — in  love!  And 
she  whom  he  loves  can  never  be  his,  for  she  is  a 
married  woman ! ' '  That  Fraulein  Lavater  had  some 
difficulty  in  restraining  her  laughter,  may  be  easily 
imagined ;  but  she  succeeded,  and  had  moreover  the 
good  sense  and  good  feeling  to  respect  her  promise 
and  keep  the  story  of  this  comic  episode  to  herself, 
until  a  time  when  its  being  made  known  could  no 
longer  be  prejudicial  to  anyone.  She  was  rewarded 
for  her  discretion  by  being  also  made  the  recipient 
of  some  of  the  young  man's  confidences — glimpses 
of  the  innumerable  adventures  of  which  he  was  the 
hero  in  the  gay  Austrian  capital. 

The  idolising  affection  my  mother  bestowed  on  her 
elder  brother,  was  felt  for  her  in  turn  by  her  younger 
brothers  and  sisters.  She  was  never  tired  of  play- 
ing with  them  and  of  telling  them  the  wonderful 
stories  which  she  made  up  for  their  amusement. 
The  announcement  of  their  step-sister's  engagement 
and  approaching  marriage  was  received  with  char- 

207 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

acteristic  comments  by  these  little  ones.  The  nine 
year-old  Helene  wept  bitterly,  affirming  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  her  to  live  without  Marie; 
Nicholas,  a  year  younger,  but  always  practical  and 
reasonable,  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  of  the 
beautiful  gardens  and  fine  collection  of  stuffed  ani- 
mals of  which  his  sister  would  become  possessor  by 
her  marriage  to  a  Prince  of  Wied ;  and  little  Sophie, 
frankly  indignant,  exclaimed: — "It  is  too  bad!  I 
will  tell  mamma  at  once,  and  see  if  she  will  allow 
such  a  thing!" 

Those  were  bright  and  happy  days  that  dawned 
on  Neuwied,  soon  after  my  parents'  marriage,  when 
my  mother,  herself  in  the  heyday  of  youth,  led  the 
revels,  supported  by  her  young  brothers,  the  gayest 
of  the  gay.  Dances,  shooting-parties,  amateur  theat- 
ricals, followed  one  another  in  rapid  succession, 
and  the  woods  echoed  with  song  and  laughter  of  the 
happy  light-footed  young  people  who  scampered 
through  them  from  morn  till  night.  All  this  has 
been  told  in  a  family  chronicle,  written  and  illus- 
trated by  my  father  himself,  and  carefully  pre- 
served in  our  archives.  But  the  story  does  not  go 
beyond  the  year  1847;  there  it  suddenly  breaks  off. 
The  festival  was  over;  the  lights  had  all  burnt  out; 
the  fun  and  frolic  had  come  to  an  end,  and  a  great 
cloud  of  sadness  seemed  to  descend  on  us  and  en- 
velop everything.  My  mother's  lameness;  Uncle 
Maurice's  death  ;  the  dangerous  illness  of  my  brother 
Williolni;  all  these  misfortunes,  occurring  almost 
simultaneously,    plunged    our   whole   household   in 

208 


WEIZCHEN 

gloom,  and  the  gaiety  and  merry-making  of  those 
early  days  was  never  to  return. 

Then  began,  with  our  journey  to  Heidelberg 
attended  with  so  much  discomfort  and  disappoint- 
ment, the  long  series  of  those  pilgrimages  to  consult 
the  most  renowned  oracles  of  medical  science,  which 
entirely  occupied  our  lives  during  several  years. 
The  celebrated  Dr.  Chelius,  whose  advice  we  now 
sought,  certainly  did  restore  my  brother  to  health 
by  the  treatment  he  prescribed,  but  to  my  mother 
he  could  do  no  good  at  all.  With  the  illogical  preju- 
dice of  childhood,  I  took  a  great  dislike  to  the  famous 
doctor  on  that  account,  looking  upon  him  as  a  most 
cruelly  disposed  individual,  who  was  putting  my 
mother  to  great  pain  for  his  own  pleasure,  but  an 
anecdote  I  heard  of  him  in  later  years  invested  him 
with  a  certain  interest  in  my  eyes  and  made  me 
regret  my  hasty  judgment. 

It  appears  that  when,  after  a  very  hard  struggle 
in  his  youth,  Dr.  Chelius  had  at  last  become  cele- 
brated, he  one  day  received  a  message  from  King 
Maximilian  of  Bavaria,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  the 
latter 's  son,  and  that  the  King  wished  to  know  if 
he  could  do  anything  for  him.  With  proper  spirit 
Chelius  replied,  that  having  done  without  a  father 
for  all  these  years,  he  thought  that  he  could  get  on 
without  one  very  well  in  future! 

We  spent  the  year  '48  in  Heidelberg,  coming  in 
for  all  the  excitement  of  the  Revolution,  with  which 
we  children  were  vastly  pleased ;  it  amused  us  to  see 
bands  of  men  wearing  red  caps,  and  armed  with 
scythes,  go  past  shouting  and  singing,  and  above  all 
14  209 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

we  were  delighted  with  the  exploits  of  the  "Free 
Companions, " — volunteers  who  apparently  found 
our  garden  the  most  convenient  place  for  their  rifle- 
practice.  We  felt  no  alarm,  even  when  someone, 
who  was  just  then  standing  close  beside  me,  kindly 
helping  me  to  arrange  my  doll's  wig,  was  struck  on 
the  forehead,  fortunately,  as  it  happened,  by  a  spent 
bullet,  which  glanced  off  without  inflicting  any  real 
injury. 

But  we  were  warned  at  last  that  we  had  better 
leave  without  further  delay,  and  the  return  journey 
was  not  accomplished  without  peril.  The  name  of 
the  demagogue,  Hecker,  was  scrawled  everywhere 
in  the  dust  that  covered  our  travelling-carriage,  on 
the  box  of  which  my  father,  disguised  as  a  servant, 
sat  beside  the  coachman.  In  Mannheim  the  carriage 
was  surrounded  by  a  noisy  group  of  men  in  red 
caps,  who  tore  open  the  door,  and  contemptuously 
exclaiming: — "Nothing  but  women!"  banged  it 
again.  When  we  reached  Biebrich,  we  found  the 
castle  empty.  Everyone  had  left  in  haste,  and  we 
had  to  go  to  an  hotel  to  spend  the  night.  This  was 
a  cold  and  comfortless  reception  indeed — no  one 
expecting  us,  or  even  seeming  to  know  or  care  who 
we  were — in  the  place  where  a  welcome  as  warm  as 
it  was  ceremonious  usually  awaited  us — servants 
lining  the  steps,  sentries  presenting  arms,  and  the 
Duke,  surrounded  by  his  courtiers,  advancing  to 
meet  his  sister  and  her  family.  The  contrast  was 
so  complete  and  chilling,  I  might  well  feel  shocked 
and  hurt  and  dazed,  as  if  the  solid  ground  had  sud- 
denly given  way  under  my  feet,  to  find  myself  so 

210 


WEIZCHEN 

small,  so  unimportant,  so  utterly  unrecognised — and 
just  in  my  dear  Biebrich,  the  paradise  of  my  child- 
hood, where,  as  in  Wiesbaden,  I  had  spent  my  hap- 
piest days,  made  much  of  and  enjoying  the  nearest 
approach  to  being  petted  and  spoilt  that  I  had  ever 
known.  This  sensation  of  bewilderment,  as  of  one 
walking  in  a  topsy-turvy  world,  was  carried  to  its 
height  by  the  familiar  address  of  the  chamber-maid 
in  the  inn,  whom  I  watched  preparing  our  beds.  Al- 
together I  received  a  lesson  on  the  insignificance 
of  worldly  honours  and  distinction,  and  perhaps 
even  on  the  instability  of  all  mundane  things,  more 
to  the  point  in  teaching  me  humility  than  any  of  my 
mother's  homilies  on  the  subject. 

A  great  change  came  over  our  household  after  the 
year  '48,  whose  events  had  swept  away  half  our 
revenues,  our  style  of  living  was  much  simplified, 
the  little  court  disbanded,  even  some  of  the  servants 
— among  them  my  mother's  first  waiting-maid — dis- 
missed, and  everything  reorganised  on  a  much 
smaller,  more  modest  scale.  And  to  what  purpose 
had  been  henceforth  pomp  and  lavish  expenditure, 
in  a  house  in  which  sorrow  and  sickness  had  taken 
up  their  abode !  The  diminished  retinue,  the  cessa- 
tion of  open-handed  hospitality,  those  were  as 
naught  beside  the  weightier  cares  that  combined  to 
crush  the  gay  spirits  of  the  revellers,  and  in  the 
first  place,  of  the  young  chatelaine  herself.  The 
death  of  her  beloved  brother  Maurice  was  a  blow 
from  which  my  mother  never  recovered,  and  the 
shock  much  accelerated  the  morbid  symptoms  that 
had  just  begun  to  declare  themselves.    Never  shall 

211 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

I  forget  the  heartrending  expression  on  her  face,  as 
bathed  in  tears,  she  made  her  appearance  in  the 
nursery  to  tell  us  children,  that  the  bright,  hand- 
some, gallant  Uncle  Maurice  was  dead!  So  small 
was  I  at  the  time,  that  I  could  not  help  finding  a 
little  consolation  in  the  black  and  black  and  white 
striped  dresses  made  for  me  on  this  occasion — it  was 
a  change  from  the  perpetual  white !  But  the  gloom 
of  mourning  did  not  pass  away;  my  mother's  health 
had  begun  to  fail.  I  remember  her  listless  gait,  how 
she  seemed  each  day  to  find  greater  difficulty  in 
going  about,  holding  on  to  every  piece  of  furniture 
for  support,  and  then  how,  all  at  once,  she  could  no 
longer  walk  at  all.  It  seemed  doubly  hard  that  this 
should  be  her  fate,  who  had  been  the  gayest  of  the 
gay,  blithe  as  a  lark  and  lightfooted  as  a  gazelle, 
out-tiring  all  her  partners  in  the  dance,  and  out- 
stripping every  one  of  her  young  companions  in 
their  mad  races  through  the  woods,  bounding  up  and 
down  the  hills  as  if  she  scarcely  touched  the  ground ! 
Throughout  those  mirthful  days,  in  their  maddest 
pranks  and  most  reckless  fun,  it  was  always  to 
Weizchen  that  the  young  folk  turned  for  help  to 
carry  out  their  most  extravagant  devices.  They 
knew  they  might  count  on  her  to  aid  and  abet  them 
in  every  harmless  plot,  indeed  her  own  inventive 
genius  sometimes  furnished  invaluable  hints,  as  in 
the  memorable  birthday  reception  prepared  by  my 
mother  for  Uncle  Maurice,  in  retaliation  for  a  prac- 
tical joke  he  had  played  on  her  a  short  time  before. 
"Remembering  his  sister's  fondness  for  the  Nassau 
bonbons,  a  sweetmeat  her  father's  cooks  excelled  in 

212 


WEIZCHEN 

preparing,  the  young  man  had  sent  her  a  magnificent 
box  of  these,  which  she  handed  round  with  delight 
to  her  guests  one  evening,  only  discovering  by  the 
wry  faces  or  half -smothered  ejaculations  of  disgust 
of  those  who  partook  of  the  confectionery,  that  the 
interior  of  these  well-sugared  delicacies  by  no  means 
corresponded  with  their  tempting  outside!  It  was 
to  punish  him  for  this  sorry  trick — a  little  too  much 
resembling,  it  must  be  owned,  the  "merrie  jestes" 
with  which  Louis  XI  is  credited — that  my  mother 
planned  the  following  revenge.  During  the  gala 
dinner  being  given  in  my  uncle's  honour,  a  servant 
suddenly  made  the  announcement  that  the  three 
Graces  begged  for  a  moment's  audience,  to  present 
their  congratulations  to  the  Prince.  Amused  and 
smiling  the  young  man  left  his  seat  and  advanced 
to  the  door,  where  he  was  met  by  a  trio,  resembling 
the  Three  Furies,  or  the  witches  in  "Macbeth" — 
anything  rather  than  the  vision  of  feminine  loveli- 
ness to  have  been  expected.  Three  of  the  most 
gaunt  and  ill-favoured  washerwomen  of  the  district 
had  been  selected  by  the  malicious  Weizchen, 
crowned  with  roses,  and  clad  in  snow-white  draper- 
ies, through  which  their  bony  necks  and  red  arms 
looked  only  the  more  frightful,  and  primed  with 
champagne  in  order  that  they  might  enact  their  part 
with  the  greater  zest,  they  surrounded  their  victim, 
whose  short-sight  prevented  him  from  seeing  them 
distinctly  until  at  quite  close  quarters.  Poor  Mau- 
rice, whose  susceptibility  to  female  charms  was  only 
equalled  by  his  aversion  for  every  form  of  ugliness, 
promptly  turned  and  fled;  but  the  ladies,  nothing 

213 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

daunted,  pursued  and  again  drew  him  into  their 
midst,  executing  a  wild  bacchanalian  dance  while 
they  tried  to  imprison  and  bind  fast  the  fugitive 
with  the  long  green  garlands  they  carried.  At  last, 
breaking  away  from  his  tormentors,  and  jumping 
over  chairs  and  tables  which  he  upset  in  his  flight, 
the  young  man  sank,  breathless  and  exhausted,  be- 
hind a  sofa  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  whilst  at  a 
sign  from  my  mother,  the  Maenads  vanished.  The 
hero  of  the  adventure  only  came  forth  from  his 
hiding-place,  when  a  few  minutes  later  Weizchen  en- 
tered the  room,  to  ask  my  mother  demurely  if  she 
were  content  with  the  way  her  orders  had  been  exe- 
cuted. Then,  springing  to  his  feet,  he  seized 
Weizchen  round  the  waist,  and  kissed  her  so  heart- 
ily, that  all  present  who  were  not  in  the  secret 
believed  that  this  also  was  a  part  of  the  masquerade. 
I  should  never  have  finished  if  I  were  to  try  to 
tell  of  all  the  amusing  scenes  that  then  took  place, 
of  some  of  which  I  retain  a  faint  recollection,  while 
others  are  only  known  to  me  by  hearsay.  One  of 
the  beautifully  illuminated  pages  of  my  father's 
"Chronicle  of  Monrepos,"  depicts  the  mock  solemni- 
ties of  the  reception  awaiting  my  mother  and  him- 
self on  one  of  their  visits  to  the  castle  of  Braunfels. 
The  customary  bevy  of  white-robed  maidens,  de- 
puted to  hand  my  mother  a  bouquet  with  an  address 
of  welcome,  was  on  this  occasion  represented  by  all 
the  elderly  gentlemen  present  in  the  castle — the 
Prince's  old  bachelor  uncles  and  their  friends — who 
attired  themselves  in  the  traditional  white  muslin 
frocks  and  wreaths  of  roses,  and  with  well-simulated 

214 


WEIZCHEN 

bashfulness  recited  verses  in  honour  of  the  visitor. 

The  amateur  theatricals  too,  what  delight  they 
gave,  and  how  many  diverting  incidents  sprang  from 
these  performances !  One  of  them  must  find  a  place 
here.  An  aunt  of  mine,  whose  height  would  very 
well  enable  her  to  pass  for  a  man,  had  agreed  to 
enact  a  male  character  in  some  comedy,  and  for  this 
she  was  to  wear  a  suit  of  my  father's  clothes,  stipu- 
lating, however,  that  neither  he  nor  any  other  of 
the  opposite  sex  were  to  know  of  this, — the  imper- 
sonation was  to  remain  a  profound  secret  to  the 
audience.  But  unfortunately  on  the  evening  in 
question,  as  my  father  sat  quietly  smoking  with  a 
few  friends,  his  valet  appeared,  and  without  the 
slightest  circumlocution,  bluntly  requested  "the  loan 
of  the  brocaded  breeches,  for  Her  Serene  Highness, 
Princess  Solms!"  Inextinguishable  laughter  broke 
forth  from  all  present,  and  I  really  doubt  whether 
my  aunt's  success  in  the  part  itself,  which  she  now 
threw  up,  would  have  been  as  great,  or  have  pro- 
voked such  hilarity. 

In  nearly  all  such  episodes  Weizchen  was  mixed 
up.  It  was  to  her  that  one  turned,  in  every  emer- 
gency, and  not  merely  in  our  own  household,  but  on 
both  sides  of  the  family,  she  came  to  be  looked  upon 
as  a  sort  of  institution,  something  belonging  to  us 
all,  and  firmly  rooted  in  the  past,  but  no  less  indis- 
pensable to  the  present.  The  Duchess  of  Olden- 
burg, my  mother's  eldest  sister,  never  came  back  to 
the  Rhineland  without  at  once  sending  for  Weizchen, 
in  order  to  revive  old  memories,  and  live  bygone 
scenes  over  again  with  her,  who  was  herself  a  piece 

215 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

of  family  history,  the  repository  of  so  many  a  family 
secret. 

It  is  on  the  lighter  side  of  her  nature  that  I  have 
chiefly  dwelt,  on  the  easier  duties  of  those  happier 
days.  But  in  the  hour  of  trial,  Weizchen  proved 
herself  no  less  true  and  devoted,  standing  firmly  at 
her  post,  as  unwearied  in  her  nursing,  in  her  care 
and  attendance  on  my  mother,  as  she  had  formerly 
been  in  contributing  to  every  scheme  of  amusement. 
All  her  best  qualities  were  shown  during  those  years 
of  sorrow,  and  it  was  perhaps  the  large  share  of  the 
burden  which  she  took  upon  her  own  shoulders,  by 
which  she  was  herself  prematurely  aged  and  sad- 
dened. She  lived  with  us  till  I  was  about  fourteen, 
and  then  retired  with  a  pension  to  rooms  assigned 
her  in  grandmamma's  pretty  house.  Her  memory 
is  bound  up  with  some  of  the  happiest  recollections 
of  my  childhood,  and  still  at  times  I  fancy  I  hear 
her  voice  ring  out  in  one  or  other  of  the  dear  old 
melodies — the  plaintive  ballad  of  ' '  Emma  and  Egin- 
hard,"  or  Mozart's  graceful  "Lullaby,"  which  she 
sang  so  often  to  us  in  the  bygone  days,  in  the  old 
home  by  the  Rhine. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  GROUP  OF   HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

Of  these  there  are  so  many — kind  honest  hearts, 
whose  worth  I  learnt  to  recognise  in  bygone  days, 
and  whom  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  leave  un- 
noticed here.  I  cannot  name  them  all,  but  all  are  in 
my  thoughts,  as  I  select  just  a  few  from  their  num- 
ber to  inscribe  among  my  Penates. 

The  one  I  would  mention  first,  the  truly  excellent 
women  who  when  Weizchen  retired  undertook  the 
management  of  our  household,  was  with  us  through 
those  especially  trying  years  in  which  my  parents' 
ill-health  and  poor  Otto's  constant  sufferings  made 
the  interior  of  our  house  more  resemble  that  of  a 
hospital  than  of  an  ordinary  home.  Frau  Baring 
was  a  gentle-voiced,  mild-eyed  woman  past  middle- 
age,  who  had  herself  experienced  much  sorrow,  and 
this  very  fact  made  her  more  fitted  for  the  sur- 
roundings than  a  younger,  livelier  person  would  have 
proved.  Not  that  there  was  anything  morose  or 
depressing  about  our  new  housekeeper,  of  whom 
I  happened  to  see  a  good  deal,  it  being  my  mother's 
wish  now  that  my  more  serious  studies  were  finished, 
that  I  should  gain  some  practical  knowledge  of  the 
matters  under  her  control.  So  I  was  duly  initiated 
into  some  of  the  mysteries  of  her  domain,  watching 
her  at  her  work  of  superintending,  and  giving 
orders,  learning  the  art  of  book-keeping  and  even 
making  an  occasional  inspection  with  her  of  larders, 

217 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

pantry  and  linen-closet.  As  for  the  results  achieved, 
I  cannot  look  back  on  these  with  very  great  satisfac- 
tion, as  all  such  commonplace  details  of  daily  life 
seemed  to  me  scarcely  worth  the  time  and  trouble 
bestowed  on  them,  and  I  by  no  means  relished  being 
called  upon  to  waste  any  thought  on  such  dry  and 
prosaic  matters.  Entering  the  daily  or  weekly  ex- 
penditure in  an  account-book  appeared  to  me  the 
most  cruel  trial  of  human  patience  that  could  possi- 
bly have  been  devised,  but  the  very  horror  with 
which  the  sight  of  these  dreary  ledgers  inspired  me, 
did  but  increase  my  admiration  and  respect  for  all 
those  whose  duty  compels  them  to  pass  their  days  in 
the  contemplation  of  dull  columns  of  meaningless 
figures!  In  my  personal  distaste  for  all  the  petty 
details  pertaining  to  the  direction  of  a  household, 
I  was  therefore  but  the  more  disposed  to  feel  sym- 
pathy for  good  Frau  Baring,  and  indeed  for  all  her 
myrmidons,  having  often  had  occasion  to  observe 
the  conscientious  zeal  with  which  all  of  these,  every 
maid-servant  and  laundress  down  to  the  meanest 
scullion,  performed  the  duties  laid  on  them.  So 
many  instances  have  I  known  of  these  humblest 
functions  patiently  and  punctiliously  discharged, 
that  I  for  one  can  never  join  in  the  complaints  too 
often  raised  against  the  servant-class.  Every  ser- 
vice rendered  us  seemed  always  to  be  a  labour  of 
love,  and  this  experience  can  surely  not  have  been 
confined  to  ourselves  alone. 

T  have  often  thought  that  I  perhaps  owed  my 
magnificent  health  in  a  certain  measure  to  my  nurse, 
the  simple  peasant-woman  picked  out  for  her  own 

218 


** 

AT  4 

ju 

r 

' 

■ 

Bf 

/m 

■  \ 

j? 

/■ 

H.M.  Queen  Elisabeth  of  Roumania 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

fine  physique  and  sound  constitution  to  be  my  foster- 
mother.  In  any  case  it  must  have  been  from  her 
that  I  derived  my  simple  tastes  in  matters  gastro- 
nomic, and  this  has  doubtless  much  contributed  to 
my  well-being  my  whole  life  long.  As  a  young  girl 
I  exulted  frankly  in  my  health  and  strength,  nor  was 
I  in  the  least  ashamed  of  my  rosy  cheeks  and  plump- 
ness, the  pallid  and  enervated  type  of  woman  not 
being  then  proposed  as  a  model,  and  no  one  having 
the  slightest  desire  to  look  like  a  ghost.  But  I 
thought  little  enough  of  such  matters — I  was  better 
employed,  with  my  books,  my  work,  my  music,  and 
whenever  our  own  dear  invalids  did  not  demand  my 
special  care,  in  paying  visits  to  the  sick  people  on 
our  estates. 

A  dull  sad  existence,  some  might  say,  for  a  grow- 
ing girl,  but  it  had  its  joys,  and  deeper  and  holier 
ones  than  can  ever  spring  from  the  mere  quest  of 
happiness.  Moments  of  depression  and  discourage- 
ment at  times  were  mine,  for  who  is  there  has  not 
known  such,  but  the  natural  buoyancy  of  youth  pre- 
vailed, and  already  in  the  exercise  of  my  pen,  I  had 
a  source  of  comfort  ever  at  hand. 

And  certainly  the  example  of  the  good  faithful 
souls  around  me,  of  their  untiring  devotion,  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  nerve  and  strengthen  me 
whenever  my  own  courage  seemed  like  to  fail. 
How  weak  and  faint-hearted  must  I  account  myself, 
when  I  looked  in  Frau  Baring's  face,  to  read  there 
the  tale  of  bygone  suffering — of  struggles  valiantly 
fought  out,  despair  triumphantly  lived  down.  Little 
by  little  I  won  her  confidence,  and  she  told  me  the 

219 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

story  of  her  life — of  the  grim  fight  sustained  with 
direst  poverty,  since  the  day  when  her  husband,  a 
government  under-official,  had  lost  his  post  through 
ill-health,  and  the  task  of  providing  for  him  as  well 
as  for  their  child  had  devolved  on  her  alone.  She 
could  speak  quite  calmly  of  her  bereavement,  could 
take  comfort  in  the  thought  that  the  husband  and 
daughter  she  had  loved  so  dearly  and  tended  so 
well,  were  both  at  rest  at  last,  and  could  suffer  no 
more,  but  when  she  told  of  the  privations  they  had 
endured,  her  lips  quivered  uncontrollably,  and  the 
tears  trickled  down  her  faded  cheeks.  No  sermon 
preached  me  on  the  duty  of  resignation  could  have 
been  half  as  effective  as  this  living  testimony  to  the 
severity  of  the  hardships  borne  thus  uncomplain- 
ingly. And  this  woman,  herself  so  sorely  tried,  was 
full  of  sympathy  for  the  troubles  that  pressed  so 
heavily  on  my  young  life.  Of  these  we  never  spoke, 
but  I  saw  that  she  understood,  and  felt  for  me,  and 
the  knowledge  made  my  burden  lighter. 

For  several  years  we  lived  as  if  on  an  island,  shut 
off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  out  of  reach  of 
even  most  intimate  friends.  It  was  better  so.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  leisure  then  for  the  pleasures  of 
social  intercourse.  They  only  who  themselves  were 
suffering  or  in  need  of  help,  were  encouraged  to 
draw  near.  Besides  the  serious  view  of  life  which 
solitude  thus  engendered  in  us,  it  had  another  salu- 
tary effect,  in  preventing  any  comparison  between 
our  lot  and  that  of  others,  in  keeping  far  from  us 
the  faintest  suspicion  that  there  was  aught  unusual 
in  our  existence.     From  our  parents"  example,  as 

220 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

well  as  from  their  precepts,  we  learned  a  lesson  of 
deep  import,  that  of  the  absolute  subordination  of 
bodily  to  spiritual  needs — we  were  taught  to  regard 
our  bodies  as  mere  servants  and  ministers  to  the 
nobler  half  of  our  nature,  and  to  treat  any  mere 
physical  suffering  or  inconvenience  as  a  matter  of 
but  small  moment.  Any  of  the  little  ailments  or 
accidents  which  weaker  parents  are  inclined  to  be- 
moan as  real  misfortunes  to  their  offspring,  were 
put  on  one  side  by  my  mother  as  wholly  unworthy 
of  attention,  with  the  remark  that  such  things  might 
happen  to  anyone,  that  few  people  had  not  some- 
thing more  to  complain  of!  Her  own  fear  was  of 
being  betrayed  into  any  weakness,  and  I  still  remem- 
ber the  tone  in  which  she  murmured — "I  must  not 
give  way!"  when  in  watching  by  her  side  the  pro- 
tracted agony  of  poor  Otto's  death-struggle,  I  had 
given  vent  to  a  cry  of  anguish  and  despair.  So  I 
learnt  from  her  to  smother  my  feelings,  and  I  told 
myself  how  thankful  I  ought  to  be,  in  being  blest 
with  parents  so  exceptionally  endowed,  that  I  could 
but  look  up  to  them  with  reverence,  and  strive  to 
follow  in  their  steps. 

Another  lesson  in  contentment  was  constantly 
given  us  by  our  humble  friends,  by  the  poor  folk 
round  about,  whom  from  my  earliest  years  I  was 
allowed  to  visit.  One  dear  old  woman  I  have  spoken 
of  elsewhere;  the  little  sketch  I  entitled  "German 
Happiness"  is  but  a  reproduction  of  a  conversation 
held  with  her,  for  I  felt  that  no  better  specimen 
could  be  given  of  that  peculiar  form  of  content- 
ment with  one's  lot  in  life  that  is  typical  of  the 

221 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

German  people.  "Hans  in  Luck"  is  perhaps  the 
truest  piece  of  folk-lore  that  exists — the  earliest 
form  in  which  we  find  the  national  characteristic 
depicted.  All  happiness,  it  is  well  known,  lies  in 
ourselves,  and  to  the  cheerful  temperament  I  speak 
of,  it  is  to  be  found  everywhere.  In  every  misfor- 
tune such  people  as  my  dear  old  peasant-woman  can 
see  some  cause  for  thankfulness ;  instead  of  shedding 
tears  over  a  broken  arm  they  rejoice  in  the  one  left 
sound,  and  comfort  themselves  in  the  direst  straits 
by  the  thought  that  things  might  have  been  much 
worse  still!  The  charm  of  my  old  friend's  simple 
words,  so  faithfully  reproduced  by  me  on  a  former 
occasion,  lies  chiefly  in  the  raciness  of  the  Rhenish 
dialect,  and  would  not  lend  itself  to  translation.  But 
I  am  glad  to  think  that  her  last  moments  were  bright- 
ened by  the  flowers  I  sent  her,  for  faithful  to  the 
promise  I  had  once  given,  I  took  care  that  these 
should  surround  her  before  she  breathed  her  last,  as 
an  earnest  that  on  the  coffin  and  grave  they  should 
not  be  lacking.  There  were  many  others,  men  and 
women  alike,  in  whom  the  habit  of  making  the 
best  of  things  had  become  a  second  nature,  and 
the  uncomplaining,  even  cheerful  simplicity  with 
which  their  load  of  misery  was  borne,  can  surely  be 
accounted  little  less  than  heroic. 

Much  suffering  was  always  caused  by  the  inun- 
dations, which  in  certain  years  spread  havoc 
throughout  the  whole  region.  Boats  were  sent  out 
to  carry  food  from  house  to  house,  and  I  remember 
going  in  one  of  these  with  Baron  Bibra,  steward 
of  the  domain,  and  one  of  our  oldest  friends,  and 

222 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

others  of  the  gentlemen  composing  our  little  court, 
to  assist  in  distributing  coffee,  bread,  and  soup,  to 
the  poor  people  in  their  flooded  habitations.  In  one 
of  these  about  forty  human  beings  were  crowded 
together  in  two  tiny  rooms  in  which  they  had  taken 
refuge,  and  in  their  midst  a  corpse — for  the  church- 
yard was  under  water  also,  like  the  bakers'  shops 
and  everything  else.  It  was  a  terrible  sight.  And 
another  year,  somewhat  later,  much  damage  was 
done  by  a  hurricane  of  exceptional  violence  that 
broke  out  at  the  same  moment,  devastating  the 
beautiful  park  behind  the  castle.  There  was  one 
avenue  of  magnificent  linden-trees,  which  was  almost 
entirely  swept  away  during  that  terrible  night, 
hardly  one  out  of  the  scores  of  fine  old  trees  of 
many  hundred  years'  growth  being  left  standing 
next  morning.  For  the  moment  my  brother  was 
too  much  occupied  in  bringing  help  to  his  poorer 
neighbours,  many  of  whose  lives  were  saved  by  his 
personal  exertions,  to  have  time  to  mourn  the  loss 
of  his  trees,  but  afterwards  it  was  a  grief  to  all  of 
us  to  behold  the  destruction  of  our  beloved  park. 
An  enormous  quantity  of  wood,  about  eight  thous- 
and cubic  feet  in  measurement,  was  carted  away  from 
the  wreckage.  I  wept  for  my  dear  old  trees.  They 
had  been  planted  by  our  forefathers  in  centuries 
gone  by,  and  had  looked  on  at  the  good  and  evil 
fortunes  of  our  family  for  all  those  years.  To  me 
they  were  especially  dear.  They  had  been  the  con- 
fidants of  my  inmost  thoughts.  How  often  have  I 
leant  out  from  my  window  and  talked  to  them! 
There  was  one  white  poplar  to  which  I  told  all  my 

223 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

secrets,  and  I  listened  to  its  murmured  replies,  as 
its  leaves  rustled,  gently  stirred  by  the  night  breeze 
that  came  sighing  across  the  rippling  Rhine. 

That  was  before  the  great  storm,  the  one  I  have 
just  told  of,  in  the  year  1876.  But  long  before  that, 
in  my  childhood  and  early  youth,  I  had  witnessed 
some  only  less  terrible.  The  position  of  Neuwied 
exposed  us  to  the  full  force  of  every  gale  that  swept 
up  the  Rhine,  each  gust  of  wind  being  caught  as  it 
were  in  the  bend  of  the  river  wherein  the  little  town 
lies,  and  eddying  round  and  round  the  castle  with 
pitiless  rage,  seemed  in  a  trap  from  which  it  sought 
to  break  away.  With  the  howling  of  the  wind,  and 
the  crashing  sound  of  the  tiles  torn  off  the  roof,  we 
could  often  scarce  hear  ourselves  speak  in  the  rooms 
inside,  and  very  often  too  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
open  the  doors,  so  great  was  the  draught.  On  the 
river  itself,  with  its  waves  lashed  to  fury,  the  spec- 
tacle was  one  of  mingled  terror  and  grandeur.  And 
I  was  well  situated  to  have  a  full  view  of  it  on  each 
such  occasion,  my  windows  directly  overlooking  the 
Rhine.  I  used  to  watch  the  boats  and  rafts,  could 
see  them  distinctly  and  hear  the  rowers  sing  out, 
as  they  dipped  their  oars  in  cadence.  Those  big 
rafts  were  most  picturesque,  and  there  was  some- 
thing poetic,  in  harmony  with  the  scene,  in  the  cry 
of  the  rowers: — "TTesseland,  France!"  instead  of 
right  and  left.  "TTesseland,  France!" — the  sound 
still  rings  in  my  ears. 

But  one  day  the  wind  was  wilder  than  its  wont, 
the  sky  was  murky,  the  Rhine  chocolate-brown,  with 
breakers  like  the  sea,  and  the  rain  beat  against  our 

224 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

window-panes,  down  which  it  then  streamed  in  tor- 
rents. Suddenly  a  fearful  shriek  went  up  from 
the  river,  and  looking  out  I  saw  a  very  big  raft 
going  to  pieces,  having  been  dashed  against  the 
landing-stage.  The  crew  shouted  for  help,  as  one 
by  one  they  were  washed  off  their  planks  and  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  waves,  and  boat  after  boat  put  off 
to  their  assistance,  succeeding  in  rescuing  many  of 
their  number.  But  some  must  have  been  drowned 
before  my  eyes.  And  I  was  alone  to  see  it,  for  mine 
were  the  only  rooms  that  looked  out  that  way,  and 
the  whole  terrible  little  drama  took  place  so  quickly, 
I  had  no  time  to  summon  anyone. 

My  beloved  Rhine  did  not,  however,  always  appear 
under  this  tragic  aspect,  nor  are  all  my  memories  of 
the  old  home  steeped  in  such  melancholy  hues.  How 
beautiful  it  was,  and  the  grounds  how  lovely  in  those 
old  days,  before  the  cyclone  had  laid  low  the  tallest 
trees.  Some  of  the  finest  specimens  were  quite  near 
the  house,  and  towered  above  it,  white  poplars  whose 
silvery  foliage  contrasted  strikingly  with  the  ruddy 
hue  of  the  copper-beeches,  and  the  soft  delicate  ver- 
dure of  the  lindens.  The  world  looked  lovely  and 
smiling  indeed,  as  I  gazed  from  my  window  and  saw 
them  bathed  in  sunshine,  with  the  shadows -of  their 
waving  branches  dancing  backwards  and  forwards 
on  the  grass.  But  there  were  other  seasons; — some- 
times of  long  duration, — when  the  gloom  within 
doors  was  so  great,  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  never 
shone  at  all,  and  I  sat  alone  in  my  room  over  my 
books,  listening  to  the  roaring  of  the  wind  in  the 
chimney,  roaring  as  it  only  roars  in  old  and  half 
15  225 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

empty  houses,  as  if  the  Spirit  of  the  Storm  were 
imprisoned  there!  Something  of  this  Paganini 
must  surely  have  one  day  heard  and  have  borne  in 
mind  when  he  composed  those  strange,  weird  varia- 
tions for  the  violin,  in  which  the  strings  sob  and 
moan  with  more  than  mortal  anguish.  Quite  re- 
cently, when  that  melody  was  played  before  me  by 
our  gifted  young  musician,  George  Enesco,  so 
vividly  did  it  recall  the  wailing  sound,  as  of  a  soul 
in  distress,  by  which  my  childhood  had  been  haunted, 
that  I  leant  over  to  my  young  niece,  who  happened 
to  be  present,  and  whispered,  "Do  you  hear  the  voice 
of  the  wind  in  the  chimneys  of  the  old  home?" — and 
she  burst  into  tears.  Ah!  how  often  have  I  cried 
too  in  the  old  days,  when  that  dismal  sound  rang 
in  my  ears,  and  all  that  I  looked  out  upon  was  a 
sullen  swollen  flood  carrying  along  huge  blocks  of 
ice,  or  else  tossing  its  angry  foaming  waves  aloft, 
beneath  a  sky  that  seemed  itself  weighted  with  lead 
and  borne  down  to  the  earth,  unmindful  of  its  true 
mission  to  stand  arched  above  our  heads  to  cheer 
us!  And  I  had  no  amusing  books  to  distract  my 
thoughts ;  nothing  but  grammars  and  histories !  And 
the  latter  I  abhorred,  for  they  seemed  to  me  to  be 
but  a  record  of  human  misery  on  a  larger  scale,  of 
which  I  had  only  seen  too  much  in  my  own  small  way, 
quite  at  close  quarters.  I  did  not  want  to  hear  of 
the  wretched  squabbles  that  had  gone  on  all  over  the 
earth,  of  how  men  hated  and  vilified  one  another, 
how  they  quarrelled  and  fought.  History  is  noth- 
ing but  glorified  misery  after  all !  I  knew  of  course 
that  these  were  frightful  heresies,  and  was  very 

226 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

much  ashamed  of  my  own  deficient  powers  of  ad- 
miration, but  it  was  perhaps  not  very  much  to  be 
wondered  at,  considering  the  way  in  which  historic 
facts  had  been  rammed  down  my  throat  in  my  lesson- 
hours.  It  was  natural  enough  that  my  thoughts 
should  wander  in  any  other  direction,  and  that  I 
should  seize  my  pen,  and  try  to  give  them  form. 
These  first  products  of  my  Muse  were  surely  very 
poor  stuff,  but  at  least  I  had  the  good  sense  to 
consign  the  whole  of  my  early  verses  to  the  flames. 
The  same  fate  befell — a  little  later  on — my  first  dra- 
matic venture,  a  long  play  with  six-and-twenty  char- 
acters, and  a  highly  sensational  plot,  involving  mur- 
der and  madness,  arson  and  similar  attractions.  I 
did  not  destroy  this  at  once,  but  coming  across  it  a 
few  years  later,  I  enjoyed  a  good  laugh  over  it, 
before  I  burnt  it. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  our  town  musicians, 
an  institution  that  was  a  relic  of  olden  times. 
Many  of  these  had  been  in  service  in  the  castle, 
where,  as  in  many  another  of  the  smaller  German 
courts,  they  had  formed  a  most  excellent  orchestra, 
trained  under  their  master's  orders.  Such  an 
orchestra,  composed  entirely  of  servants, — footmen, 
lackeys,  valets,  grooms, — existed  still  when  my 
father  married,  and  both  he  and  his  young  wife 
often  played  quartets  and  quintets  with  their  own 
domestics.  The  service  may  perhaps  sometimes 
have  suffered  a  little  in  consequence ;  it  has  happened 
that  the  flute-player,  standing  behind  my  mother's 
chair,  would  begin  humming  his  part,  forgetting 

227 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

that  he  was  waiting  at  table.  But  if  the  waiting 
was  indifferent,  the  music,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
very  good!  After  the  year  1848,  when  our  whole 
establishment  was  so  reduced,  several  of  these  old 
servants  established  themselves  as  musicians  in  the 
town,  and  not  only  my  brother  and  I,  but  his  chil- 
dren since,  took  lessons  from  some  of  them. 

Connected  with  our  hospital  in  Neuwied  were  a 
number  of  worthy,  kind-hearted  people — mostly 
ladies  belonging  to  the  town,  who  were  themselves 
busy  enough  in  their  own  households,  but  who  yet 
found  time  to  work  for  the  poor,  and  to  visit  the 
families  in  greatest  distress.  And  of  all  those  chari 
table  souls  Frau  Hachenberg,  for  nearly  forty  years 
president  of  the  Ladies  Nursing  Union,  was  the 
most  active  and  zealous.  She  was  the  very  essence 
of  Christian  charity,  and  withal  of  such  strong 
commonsense  and  so  practical  in  all  her  methods, 
that  every  undertaking  flourished  in  her  hands.  It 
was  she  who  founded  the  hospital  with  but  a  thaler 
to  commence  building.  Her  confidence  never  wa- 
vered; she  knew  the  funds  would  be  forthcoming. 
And  the  faith  and  trust  which  were  hers  she  man- 
aged to  impart  to  others  in  turn;  so  that  her  work 
has  continued  growing,  and  has  increased  to  three 
times  its  original  size.  The  good  deaconesses  of 
Kaiserswerth  have  been  attached  to  the  hospital 
from  the  first,  and  to  them  also  a  large  share  of 
honour  is  due. 

Immense  capability  of  self-sacrifice  must  be  theirs 
who  would  devote  themselves  to  the  service  of  suf- 

228 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

fering  humanity.  In  Frau  Hachenberg  the  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice  knew  no  bounds.  And  her  talent  for 
organisation  was  on  the  same  scale.  She  was  no 
sentimentalist,  nor  in  the  least  given  to  the  use  of 
pious  phraseology.  Quiet,  determined,  straightfor- 
ward, her  simplicity  and  directness  were  more  im- 
proving than  the  elegant  manners  of  many  a  more 
fashionable  woman,  who  would  indeed  have  been  at 
a  loss  to  control  the  heterogeneous  elements  which 
Frau  Hachenberg  dealt  with  so  skilfully.  With  a 
single  glance  she  seemed  to  survey  a  whole  situa- 
tion, and  grasp  all  its  contingencies.  I  could  never 
cease  admiring  her,  and  it  was  from  her  I  learnt 
nearly  all  that  in  my  youth  I  knew  respecting  the 
management  of  benevolent  institutions.  So  strongly 
did  she  set  the  seal  of  her  own  remarkable  personal- 
ity on  every  department  of  our  nursing  home — for 
that  modest  appellation  would  better  befit  our  little 
hospital  at  its  start — that  her  spirit  seems  to  pre- 
side and  dominate  it  still,  to  this  day.  Whenever  on 
one  of  my  visits  to  my  old  home,  I  attend  a  meeting 
of  the  Union,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  find  Frau  Hachen- 
berg there,  in  her  accustomed  place,  coming  forward 
to  receive  me,  and  it  is  as  if  the  fifty  years  had  gone 
past  like  a  single  day,  for  there,  at  all  events,  every- 
thing seems  unchanged. 

Unchanged — but  grown  and  developed.  From 
those  small  beginnings  great  things  have  sprung, 
round  that  centre  a  whole  wide  scheme  of  benevolent 
institutions  has  grouped  itself.  On  its  fiftieth  anni- 
versary, at  the  jubilee  of  the  hospital,  my  thoughts 

229 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

flew  back  to  its  founders,  and  a  quaint  old  rhyme 
that  Baron  Bibra,  one  of  them,  was  fond  of  repeat- 
ing, came  into  my  head,  telling  how — ' '  On  each  grey 
grimy  town,  as  the  angels  look  down," — they  weep 
over  the  blindness  and  folly  of  poor  human  beings, 
toiling  and  struggling  to  raise  mighty  monuments 
here  on  earth,  where  we  are  but  passing  guests, — 
"While  we  build  not  in  Heaven,  and  scarce  have 
a  care  for  Eternity's  mansions,  awaiting  us  there!" 
I  know  not  whence  he  had  the  homely  verses,  but 
they  always  went  to  my  heart.  How  few  of  us  build 
for  Eternity,  and  yet  how  easy  it  were  to  take  a 
small  piece  of  Heaven  into  the  earthly  habitations  we 
are  at  such  pains  to  construct ! 

Yet  those  earthly  abodes  are  very  dear  to  us  at 
times,  and  rightly  so,  for  the  sake  of  all  those  who 
have  lived  in  them.  I  love  every  corner,  every  stone 
of  my  dear  Neuwied.  And  not  merely  the  castle  of 
my  fathers,  not  merely  the  cradle  of  my  race,  but  the 
little  town  itself,  so  bright,  and  clean  and  well-kept, 
the  very  model  of  the  picturesque  Rhenish  town, 
whose  simplicity  I  would  not  exchange  for  all  the 
luxury  of  Cosmopolis,  and  whose  modest  dwellings, 
and  narrow,  old-fashioned  streets  may  surely  com- 
pare favourably  at  all  events  on  aesthetic  grounds 
with  the  sky-scrapers  of  the  noisy,  over-crowded  cit- 
ies of  the  New  World !  So  dear  was  ever  to  me  my 
childhood's  home,  in  weal  and  woe,  even  the  inun- 
dations seemed  something  to  be  proud  of,  and  I 
knew  that  I  was  not  alone  in  this,  but  that  many  of 
the  good  townsfolk  of  Neuwied  shared  in  the  feeling 

230 


A  GROUP  OF  HUMBLE  FRIENDS 

that  made  me  wind  up  one  of  my  Rhine-songs  with 
the  words : 

If  in  our  town  the  river 

Is  a  more  frequent  guest, 
'Tis  surely  that  he  loves  us 

Better  than  all  the  rest! 

Seriously  enough,  it  will  ever  seem  to  me  a 
favoured  spot,  and  I  would  have  it  as  it  is,  and 
tremble  when  I  hear  the  schemes  discussed — it  may 
be  half  in  jest — of  throwing  a  big  bridge  across  the 
Rhine  and  giving  to  the  industries  of  the  quiet  little 
place  such  development  as  would  soon  convert  it 
into  an  important  commercial  town.  It  were  a 
thousand  pities !  There  is  little  fear,  I  think,  of  our 
seeing  such  changes,  and  come  what  may,  the  Past 
is  ours.  I  can  still  say  my  Rhine  and  my  Neuwied, 
for  my  strong  attachment  to  my  birthplace  and  my 
native  land  will  be  with  me  to  the  last. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MY  TUTORS 

I  use  the  word  advisedly,  the  direction  of  my 
studies,  after  my  twelfth  year,  being  almost  entirely 
taken  out  of  female  hands,  my  mother  feeling  more 
confidence  in  the  competence  of  persons  of  the  other 
sex  to  impart  to  me  the  sound  and  thorough  instruc- 
tion she  insisted  on  and  which  must  moreover  be  in 
accordance  with  her  own  views,  and  not  in  the  least 
on  the  pattern  of  the  ordinary  curriculum  for  girls. 
Religious  instruction  she  had  always  been  in  the 
habit  of  giving  us  herself  and  she  kept  up  the  prac- 
tice until  within  a  few  weeks  of  my  confirmation, 
preparing  over  night  with  great  pains  the  subject 
of  the  lesson  which  she  gave  us  every  morning  at 
six  o'clock,  and  which  was  sometimes  a  theological 
disquisition,  sometimes  a  survey  of  ecclesiastical  his- 
tory. For  these,  as  for  all  my  other  lessons,  I  had 
to  write  essays,  rather  for  the  purpose  of  obliging 
me  to  summarise  and  recapitulate  systematically  all 
that  I  had  learnt,  than  as  an  encouragement  to  the 
expression  of  my  own  ideas ;  this  exercise  was,  not- 
withstanding, probably  of  the  greatest  value  to  me 
as  enabling  me  to  acquire  very  early  great  facility 
with  my  pen.  Already  at  quite  an  early  age  I  had 
my  own  very  decided  views  about  style,  and  I  re- 
member as  quite  a  child  coming  into  conflict  with  the 
very  first  of  my  male  teachers — one  of  the  masters 
from  the  Neuwied  Grammar-school,  engaged  to  give 

232 


MY  TUTORS 

me  German  lessons — concerning  an  essay  on 
''Springtime,"  I  had  written  for  him.  Inspired  by 
so  congenial  a  theme,  I  had  simply  let  myself  go, 
and  the  pages  I  handed  to  Herr  Nohl  were  prob- 
ably more  remarkable  for  originality  than  for  aca- 
demic correctness  of  form.  Whether  he  laid  too  much 
stress  on  negligencies  of  styles,  which  in  my  youthful 
impetuosity  I  was  too  little  inclined  to  heed,  I  can 
no  longer  say;  but  I  know  that  his  unsparing  criti- 
cism of  my  work  struck  me  as  unjust,  and  that  the 
corrections  he  proposed  did  not  seem  to  me  to 
improve  it  at  all. 

Latin  I  was  taught  by  my  brother's  tutor,  joining 
Wilhelm  at  his  lessons,  a  plan  adopted  partly  in 
order  to  give  him  the  stimulant  of  emulation,  but 
which  became  a  source  of  unspeakable  pleasure  and 
profit  to  myself.  I  had  such  delight  and  displayed 
so  much  facility  in  the  acquisition  of  a  new  language, 
that  linguistic  talent  was  supposed  to  be  my  special 
gift.  No  one  understood,  nor  was  I  myself  until 
long  after  aware,  that  it  was  language,  and  not  lan- 
guages, that  was  my  real  concern.  Unconsciously, 
I  was  forging  for  my  own  use  the  weapon  that  was 
to  serve  me  later  on,  and  this  peep  into  the  beauties 
of  the  Latin  tongue — for  a  mere  peep  it  was,  since 
I  laboured  under  the  disadvantage  of  having  to 
plunge  into  its  mysteries  at  the  point  at  which 
my  brother  had  arrived, — was  yet  of  immense  ser- 
vice to  me,  in  enlarging  my  horizon,  and  affording 
me  a  cursory  inspection  of  the  treasures  of  another 
world.  The  grammar  of  that  noble  idiom  I  never 
rightly  mastered,  it  is  true,  conscientiously  as  I 

233 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

battled  with  it.  Many  and  many  a  night  have  I 
fallen  asleep  over  my  books,  my  head  resting  on  the 
ponderous  old  dictionary  in  which  I  was  seeking  the 
key  to  some  involved  construction  in  the  verse,  whose 
majestic  cadence  enchanted  my  ear,  even  before  I 
had  fully  apprehended  its  true  significance.  My 
brother's  tastes  were  very  different  from  my  own; 
it  was  not  languages  that  interested  him,  but  mathe- 
matics and  the  exact  sciences.  Inventions  of  all 
sorts  were  his  special  hobby,  every  new  kind  of 
machine  had  a  special  fascination  for  him,  and  he 
would  have  loved  to  be  an  engineer.  The  other 
course  of  lessons  given  us  by  Professor  Preuner, 
on  classic  art,  was  perhaps  of  even  greater  efficiency 
in  opening  my  eyes  to  the  glories  of  the  ancient 
world,  since  here  there  were  no  technical  obscurities 
to  interpose  themselves  between  my  vision  and  the 
masterpieces  revealed.  In  a  series  of  excellent 
drawings  these  were  displayed  to  us,  and  their  per- 
fection pointed  out  and  explained  with  so  much 
enthusiasm  by  our  professor,  himself  an  ardent 
devotee  of  Grecian  art,  that  we  in  turn  learned  to 
know  and  love  these  treasures  of  antiquity  so  thor- 
oughly and  well,  my  subsequent  visits  to  the  great 
European  galleries  containing  the  originals  had 
nothing  of  strangeness  or  surprise, — it  was  but  as  if 
I  were  renewing  acquaintance  with  old  and  well- 
loved  friends,  of  whom  I  had  lost  sight  for  a  while. 
An  equal  meed  of  gratitude,  though  on  other 
grounds,  is  due  from  me  to  the  old  mathematician, 
TTenkel,  who  had  been  my  father's  tutor  in  former 
days,  and  who  now  laboured  hard,  though  with  but 

234 


MY  TUTORS 

poor  results,  to  introduce  the  rudiments  of  his  to  me 
most  dismal  science  into  my  very  refractory  brain! 
What  endless  trouble  the  dear  old  man  took,  and 
what  inexhaustible  patience  he  displayed  in  the  at- 
tempt to  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries  of  progres- 
sions and  equations,  or  even  the  simple  extraction 
of  a  square  root!  Under  his  kindly  tuition  I  filled 
many  note-books,  covered  whole  pages  with  figures 
supposed  to  calculate  the  logarithm  of  a  number, 
without  even  knowing  what  a  logarithm  was!  Eu- 
clid I  never  understood  at  all ;  I  can  just  remember 
that  in  every  right-angled  triangle  the  square  on  the 
hypothenuse  is  equal  to  the  sum  of  the  squares  on 
the  other  two  sides;  but  why!  Ah!  that  is  a  very 
different  matter!  As  for  algebra,  it  was  utterly 
incomprehensible  to  me,  so  I  contented  myself  with 
learning  a  few  of  the  formulae  by  heart.  Just  as  in 
a  cousin  of  mine, — a  man  of  great  learning,  consid- 
erable literary  culture,  and  possessed  of  a  fine  taste 
in  painting, — the  musical  sense  is  entirely  wanting, 
so  to  me  the  properties  pertaining  to  number  and 
quality  will  forever  remain  a  sealed  book. 

To  my  French  governesses  I  owe  thanks  for  hav- 
ing so  thoroughly  grounded  me  in  their  language, 
that  I  could  employ  it  for  my  literary  work  as  well 
as  my  mother-tongue,  one  of  my  books  being  written 
originally  in  French.  They  too  were  my  guides  on 
my  first  incursions  in  the  glorious  domain  of  French 
literature,  whose  vast  treasure-house  I  ransacked 
greedily,  dwelling  with  special  delight  on  the  match- 
less beauty  of  the  great  prose-writers,  my  ear,  accus- 
tomed to  the  more  marked  cadence  of  German  verse, 

235 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

having  always,  I  confess,  been  slightly  deaf  to  the 
melody  of  the  Alexandrine  couplet.  To  the  earlier 
poets  of  course  this  restriction  does  not  apply,  and 
Villon  and  Clement  Marot  became  each  in  his  own 
way  dear  to  me,  as  were  Ronsard  and  the  other  illus- 
trious members  of  the  Plei'ade. 

Then  came  a  moment,  on  which  I  can  look  back 
with  a  certain  special  satisfaction,  during  which  I 
was  left  without  either  governess  or  preceptor  of 
any  sort  to  pursue  my  studies  entirely  on  my  own 
account,  save  for  the  advice  given  me  for  my  reading 
by  my  parents.  Those  were  the  months  which  I 
devoured  with  avidity  every  book  that  came  in  my 
way — even  history,  I  remember,  and  not  only  such 
works  as  Schiller's  "Thirty  Years'  War"  and  "Re- 
volt of  the  Netherlands,"  rendered  fascinating  by 
their  literary  style,  but,  to  please  my  mother,  the 
drier  pages  of  Becker's  great  Universal  History, 
in  its  fourteen  volumes,  were  all  waded  through, 
rather  more  perfunctorily,  I  fear,  than  some  of  my 
lighter  reading!  Still,  the  hours  spent  thus  were 
surely  not  altogether  lost,  and  the  habit  of  inde- 
pendent study,  once  acquired,  never  left  me. 

But  this  course  of  independent  study  could  not  of 
course  be  allowed  to  go  on  indefinitely,  and  with  the 
professor  on  whom,  after  much  deliberation,  my 
parents'  choice  ultimately  fell,  they,  like  myself,  had 
every  reason  to  be  satisfied.  This  was  a  very  young 
savant,  named  Sauerwein,  a  protege  of  the  Prince 
Consort's  friend,  Baron  Stockmar,  by  whom  he  was 
recommended  to  my  parents,  as  being  capable  of  un- 
dertaking the  entire  direction  of  my  studies,  from 

236 


MY  TUTORS 

the  stage  at  which  I  had  now  arrived.  He  was  a 
man  of  quite  remarkable  attainments,  his  linguistic 
talent  in  particular  having  gained  for  him  the  repu- 
tation of  a  second  Mezzofanti,  with  such  apparent 
ease  did  he  apply  himself  to  acquiring  each  new  lan- 
guage to  add  to  his  already  goodly  store — about 
thirty,  it  seems  to  me,  he  spoke  quite  fluently  at  the 
time  when  I  knew  him.  To  myself  the  charm  of 
Sauerwein's  teaching  lay  in  his  having  no  cut  and 
dried  pedagogic  method ;  not  considering  it  the  chief 
object  of  education  to  alter  the  direction  towards 
which  his  pupil's  tastes  and  abilities  naturally 
turned,  he  had  no  wish  to  force  my  mind  into  a 
groove  into  which  it  could  never  fit  itself,  but  rather 
made  it  his  aim  to  adapt  himself  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  situation.  In  after  years  my  tutor  owned  to  me 
how  great  his  amazement  had  been,  when  in  the  place 
of  the  child  of  thirteen  he  believed  his  future  pupil 
to  be,  he  found  a  young  girl,  tall  for  her  years  and 
very  self-composed,  who  in  a  few  well-chosen  words 
thanked  him  for  the  trouble  he  was  about  to  give 
himself.  And  his  surprise  reached  its  height  when 
the  following  morning  he  heard  the  "Prisoner  of 
Chill  on"  very  dramatically  recited  by  the  pupil  who 
was  to  learn  English  from  him! 

It  was  well  for  me  that  I  was  so  thoroughly  pre- 
pared, as  to  be  the  better  able  to  profit  by  the  un- 
usual and  really  admirable  course  of  instruction 
Herr  Sauerwein  now  entered  on.  Its  range  was 
wide  and  varied,  history — and  English  constitu- 
tional history  in  particular — occupying  a  very  con- 
siderable part  of  it,  an  exhaustive  knowledge  of  the 

237 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

political  development  of  that  country  being  deemed 
essential,  at  a  moment  when  all  other  nations  seemed 
bent  on  blindly  copying  English  customs  and  insti- 
tutions, however  little  compatible  these  might  be 
with  their  own  mind  and  character.  Many  a  State 
has  since  had  to  learn  to  its  cost,  the  mistake  of 
transplanting  growths  of  foreign  culture  upon  their 
soil,  and  the  impossibility  of  amalgamating  these 
alien  elements  with  the  national  life.  But  at  that 
time,  in  Germany  as  elsewhere,  the  admiration  for  all 
things  English  made  historians  like  Macaulay  and 
Carlyle  extremely  popular,  and  also  encouraged  the 
study  of  English  literature.  That  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme was  pure  delight  to  me.  Under  my  new 
preceptor's  guidance  I  obtained  a  comprehensive 
survey  of  the  whole  vast  field,  from  Chaucer  to  mod- 
ern times.  The  Scottish  dialect  was  no  bar  to  my 
appreciation  of  Burns;  many  of  his  poems  I  learnt 
by  heart,  and  can  remember  still.  But  the  literature 
of  my  own  country  was  not  neglected,  and  here  also 
we  started  reviewing  it  from  its  origins,  deciphering 
early  Gothic  fragments,  continuing  our  quest 
through  Eddas  and  Nibelungen,  and  lingering  with 
joyful  pride  among  the  heroes  sung  of  by  Gottfried 
and  by  Wolfram,  in  the  poems  that  are  so  glorious 
a  national  heritage.  So  well  did  I  love  them,  the 
noble  knights  of  King  Arthur's  Court,  and  the 
doughty  champions  of  the  Holy  Grail,  that  I  can 
hardly  forgive  Wagner  the  liberties  he  has  taken 
with  these  fine  old  stories,  in  order  to  suit  them  to 
the  requirements  of  his  music,  glorious  though  that 
be.     The  versions  of  these  sublime  legends  given 

238 


MY  TUTORS 

by  Wagner  came  doubtless  as  a  revelation  to  those 
to  whom  they  were  as  yet  unknown ; — but  to  us,  who 
had  lived  among  them  and  loved  them  from  our 
birth,  his  arbitrary  mode  of  treatment  was  rather  of 
the  nature  of  a  sacrilege.  The  term  is  perhaps  too 
strong,  but  I  cannot  forget  my  keen  disappointment 
at  certain  features  of  the  representations  at  Bay- 
reuth.  It  is  on  this  account  that  I  prefer  the  Meis- 
ter singer  to  all  Wagner's  other  works,  since  he  had 
here  no  legend  to  alter  or  spoil,  but  simply  a  mate- 
rial which  he  could  turn  and  twist  as  he  pleased,  and 
which  could  only  gain  by  his  skilful  handling  and 
by  the  musical  atmosphere  which  his  genius  con- 
jured up  around  the  personages  of  his  drama. 

From  the  study  of  our  old  Germanic  legends  in 
their  epic  form,  we  passed  on  to  the  early  poetic 
monuments  of  other  lands,  collections  of  primitive 
songs  and  ballads  being  ransacked  for  their  best 
specimens,  whilst  the  great  national  epics  were  made 
the  object  of  more  exhaustive  scrutiny.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  this  vast  field  of  exploration,  my 
tutor's  remarkable  linguistic  equipment  made  him 
the  surest  and  best  qualified  of  guides ;  Sanscrit  and 
Russian  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  Neo-Latin 
tongues  or  Celtic  idioms;  snatches  of  Hungarian 
song  alternated  on  his  lips  with  verses  of  the  Per- 
sian and  Arabic  poets;  and  his  reading  was  as  ex- 
tensive as  his  literary  taste  was  sound.  Some  of 
the  fine  old  poems  with  which  I  then  became  ac- 
quainted— the  "Kalerala"  or  "Ramayana"  and 
"Mahalharata"  for  instance,  in  which  the  soul  of  a 
whole  race  has  been  enshrined  and  preserved,  have 

239 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

since  by  the  talent  and  industry  of  translators,  and 
increased  facilities  of  publication,  been  made  easily 
accessible  to  all;  but  in  those  days  neither  the  Fin- 
nish, nor  the  great  epics  of  Hindustan,  were  popu- 
larly known,  and  it  was  no  mean  privilege  I  enjoyed, 
in  being  led  through  these  labyrinths  of  delight 
by  one  to  whom  every  step  of  the  way  was  familiar. 
It  was  Sauerwein's  aim,  to  give  me  something- 
more  than  a  superficial  acquaintance  with  all  that 
is  best  in  the  literature  of  the  whole  world;  our 
course  of  reading  was  in  consequence  strangely 
diversified;  Ossian  and  the  Minnesanger,  Sakuntala 
and  the  ' ' Gerusalemme  Liberata,"  these  were  but 
a  few  of  the  multitudinous  and  bewildering  contrasts 
forced  upon  my  youthful  brain,  to  which  some  credit 
is  perhaps  due  for  having  borne  without  ill  results  so 
unusual  a  strain.  On  my  progress  in  Italian  Herr 
Sauerwein  laid  special  stress,  and,  as  I  afterwards 
learnt,  from  the  very  kindest  motives.  He  was  well 
aware  both  of  my  poetic  proclivities  and  of  the  per- 
sistent attempts  to  stifle  these,  and,  thinking  it  a 
pity  that  my  imaginative  powers  should  not  have 
fair  play,  he  quietly  encouraged  me  under  cover 
of  the  Italian  essays  set  me  and  into  which  no  one 
else  looked,  to  give  my  fancy  the  reins  and  write 
as  the  spirit  prompted.  Long  after,  he  showed  me 
a  whole  pile  of  these  compositions,  and  told  me  of 
the  satisfaction  he  had  felt  in  watching  the  dawn 
of  a  talent,  of  whose  existence  no  one  else,  and  I 
myself  least  of  all,  was  really  cognisant  at  that  time. 
Little  did  he  think,  when  he  recited  to  me  some  of 
the  old  Welsh  songs,  that  one  day,  in  the  assembly 

240 


MY  TUTORS 

of  the  bards,  I  should  be  acclaimed  by  them  as  one 
of  their  number.  Nor  could  my  mother  foresee,  in 
the  infinite  pains  she  bestowed  on  improving  my 
handwriting,  that  the  Gothic  and  ornamental  letters 
she  set  before  me  as  models  would  become  to  me 
as  a  simple  running-hand,  and  that  I  should  fill  whole 
volumes  with  finely  traced  characters,  imitating  the 
missals  illuminated  with  such  care  and  reverence  by 
pious  monks  of  old. 

I  had  as  schoolroom  a  little  room  leading  out  of 
my  mother's,  so  that  she  could  be  present  at  all  my 
lessons,  in  the  next  room,  even  when  she  was  too  ill 
to  leave  her  bed.  Few  mothers  I  think  can  have 
taken  their  duties  more  seriously.  Our  religious  in- 
struction, as  I  said,  she  always  gave  us  herself, 
assisted  by  my  father.  Her  old  clerical  friend,  Pas- 
tor Dilthey,  came  and  stayed  with  us  at  Monrepos 
just  a  few  weeks  before  my  confirmation,  to  prepare 
me  for  it,  but  the  real  work  of  preparation  had  been 
accomplished  by  my  mother  beforehand.  The  ex- 
amination that  precedes  the  ceremony  took  place  in 
Monrepos,  in  our  own  woods,  in  the  presence  of  more 
than  a  hundred  people,  members  of  our  family  on 
both  sides  and  many  friends,  and  among  the  latter 
that  most  constant  of  friends,  the  Empress  Augusta, 
who  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  showing  her 
affection  and  regard.  Never  shall  I  forget  that 
solemn  moment  of  my  life,  and  my  dear  little  Otto's 
touching  words,  which  he  wrote  for  me  in  the  little 
volume  of  the  "Imitation"  he  gave  me  in  remem- 
brance of  the  day.  For  some  time  before  the  con- 
firmation, in  order  that  I  might  give  my  whole 
16  241 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

thoughts  to  preparing  for  so  serious  an  event,  my 
music-lessons  had  been  stopped;  I  had  not  been 
allowed  to  practise  at  all,  so  that  it  was  with  renewed 
energy  that  I  returned  to  it  afterwards.  The  riding- 
lessons  which  I  now  had  from  one  of  my  uncle's 
equerries,  a  most  excellent  riding-master,  gave  me 
less  pleasure.  This  exercise,  like  dancing,  seemed 
dull  to  me,  from  lack  of  intellectual  stimulus. 

But  I  should  never  have  done  if  I  tried  to  enumer- 
ate all  those  who  contributed  to  my  education,  and 
from  whom  at  some  time  or  other  I  have  learnt.  It 
was  not  always  from  one's  regular  professors  that 
the  most  useful  lessons  came.  We  are  forever 
learning,  for  Life  itself  is  a  school  from  which 
there  is  no  playing  truant,  and  whose  teaching  only 
stops  at  the  grave.  As  for  educational  systems  and 
theories,  Nature,  the  greatest  teacher  of  all,  often 
laughs  these  to  scorn.  The  best  of  them  is  but  a  bed 
of  Procrustes,  to  fit  which  human  limbs  are  ruth- 
lessly lopped  or  stretched.  "Wiser  were  we  to  leave 
to  Nature 's  self  the  task  of  fashioning  each  individ- 
ual in  youth.  She  has  not  made  all  on  one  pattern, 
and  diversity,  not  uniformity,  is  her  aim. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MARIE 

Whenever  my  lips  pronounce  the  beloved  name,  I 
am  choked  with  the  tears  that  gather  round  my 
heart,  and  silently  overflowing,  suffuse  my  eyes.  She 
was  the  sunshine  of  my  youth,  illuminating  it  with 
her  own  radiant  brightness,  with  her  affection,  her 
irrepressible  swiftness  of  perception  and  joyful 
play  of  fancy,  with  the  unspeakable  tenderness  that 
was  hers.  As  children  we  were  always  together, 
the  three  Bibras  and  we  three.  There  was  a  per- 
petual interchange  of  letters  and  messages,  little 
notes  constantly  making  their  way  across  the  quad- 
rangle that  lay  between  the  castle  and  their  house, 
with  some  such  whimsically  worded  invitation  as 
the  following:  "The  three  little  "Widgeons  request 
the  pleasure  of  the  three  little  Bearers'  company  to 
tea."  Or,  it  might  be,  the  other  way  round.  We 
were  all  of  about  the  same  age,  Marie  being  born 
in  the  same  year  as  my  brother  Wilhelm,  her  brother 
Berthold  and  I  the  preceding  year,  whilst  our  poor 
Otto,  had  he  lived,  would  be  the  same  age  as  her 
sister,  Louise,  Countess  Bernstorff,  sole  survivor 
of  that  trio.  But  death  had  already  thinned  the 
ranks  of  the  Bibra  family,  two  dear  children  having 
been  laid  quite  early  in  the  tomb.  These  were  the 
baby  Anna,  who  died  in  our  house  at  Monrepos, 
and  whose  little  waxen  face  and  cold  white  hands  [ 
well  remember,  and  the  little  Max,  Marie's  darling, 

243 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

a  fine  manly  little  fellow,  whose  loss  the  elder  sister 
never  ceased  to  deplore.  Her  beautiful  eyes,  soft 
and  limpid  as  those  of  a  gazelle,  ran  over  with  tears 
at  the  mention  of  his  name.  Those  tears  seemed 
always  ready  to  flow,  as  if  her  heart  were  over- 
full, and  it  needed  but  a  word  to  stir  the  depths 
and  bring  them  to  the  surface.  How  quietly  they 
coursed  down  the  fair  young  cheeks,  never  redden- 
ing them  or  distorting  the  delicate  features,  but 
giving  her  the  appearance  of  a  blossom  refreshed  by 
rain.  And  those  lovely  lustrous  eyes  looked  only 
the  more  brilliant  for  the  tears  they  had  shed,  lit 
up  by  a  soft  steady  radiance  that  I  have  never  seen 
elsewhere.  .  .  .  But  how  can  I  find  words  to  tell 
of  her  sweetness,  of  all  she  was  to  me,  my  heart's 
best  friend,  the  dear  companion  of  my  youth ! 

Thrown  together  as  we  were  by  circumstances, 
and  with  so  much  that  was  sympathetic  in  our 
natures,  we  were  drawn  yet  closer  by  the  hand  of 
Fate,  by  a  certain  similarity  in  the  fortunes — or 
rather  in  the  ill-fortune  that  befell  our  families. 
There  is  perhaps  no  stronger  tie  than  that  which 
springs  from  an  affliction  borne  in  common,  and  the 
friendship  that  united  Marie  von  Bibra  and  myself, 
founded  on  the  sorrows  we  had  shared,  but  little 
resembled  that  which  ordinarily  exists  between  girls 
of  our  age.  Young  as  she  was,  and  naturally  light- 
hearted,  she  had  known  much  sorrow.  After  the 
baby-sister,  and  the  little  brother  whom  she  loved 
so  well,  she  was  fated  to  see  the  only  remaining  one, 
Berthold,  called  away  one  springtime  in  the  bloom 
and  pride  of  youth.    It  was  on  a  cold  dull  May  day 

244 


MARIE 

— how  unlike  the  May  mornings  of  poetry  and 
legend! — that  I  stood  with  her  beside  the  coffin  in 
which  her  brother  had  just  been  laid,  and  together 
we  afterwards  wove  the  garlands  that  went  with  him 
to  the  grave.  And  in  all  the  anguish  of  the  years 
of  Otto's  martyrdom  it  was  she  who  supported  and 
comforted  me,  when  the  load  of  sorrow  would  other- 
wise have  seemed  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  These 
were  no  weak,  no  ordinary  ties,  that  bound  our  souls 
together,  and  the  fellowship  of  sorrow  rests  on  a 
firmer  basis  than  any  other  fraternity.  But  our 
joys  were  in  common  too,  and  how  much  increased, 
by  being  shared! 

Thus  we  grew  up  together,  in  joy  and  sorrow, 
until  the  day  when,  coming  from  poor  Otto's  death- 
bed, Baron  Bibra  said,  as  he  wrung  my  father's 
hand,  "Before  the  year  is  out,  another  of  my  dear 
children  will  lie  under  the  earth!" — "Yes,  yes,"  he 
continued,  in  answer  to  his  friend's  look  of  horror 
and  amazement,  "she  coughs  just  like  Berthold, — 
it  is  only  the  beginning,  but  I  know  the  tone, — she 
too  must  go!" 

It  was  only  too  true.  Marie,  who  was  just  six- 
teen, was  taken  away  to  the  sea  by  her  parents ;  but 
scarcely  six  months  later,  a  message  was  brought  me 
by  a  dear  and  trusted  friend,  to  prepare  me  for  the 
shock  of  seeing  her  again.  Far  from  deriving  any 
benefit  from  the  sea-air,  she  had  come  back  with 
inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  already  all  hope  was 
given  up.  My  one  wish  was  to  fly  to  her  bed- 
side ;  but  even  then  I  had  to  wait  some  days  to  see 
her,  till  she  had  rallied  a  little  and  had  strength  to 

245 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

talk  to  me.  Ah !  how  sad  was  that  meeting !  Death 
was  in  her  face,  in  the  hectic  flush  on  her  cheeks,  in 
the  unnatural  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  in  the  transpar- 
ent whiteness  of  her  hands,  as  she  stretched  them 
towards  me,  lying  in  bed,  with  the  magnificent 
tresses  of  her  fair  silky  hair,  that  usually  crowned 
her  head  like  an  aureole,  hanging  in  two  heavy 
braids  across  the  pillow.  She  could  not  raise  her 
voice  above  a  whisper  as  she  told  me :  "  I  thought  I 
should  die,  while  we  were  away,  at  Scheveningen ! 
Oh!  Lisi, — I  did  not  want  to  die!" 

After  that,  she  seemed  to  rally  a  little,  and  each 
day  I  paid  her  a  visit,  sitting  beside  her  whilst 
with  those  skilful  fingers  of  hers — fingers  that 
always  seemed  with  a  touch  to  accomplish  marvels — 
she  executed  a  host  of  charming  things,  little  card- 
board objects  that  were  as  pretty  in  their  way  as 
the  beautiful  ivory  carvings  that  had  formerly  been 
her  delight,  but  for  which  her  strength  no  longer 
sufficed.  Feeble  as  they  were,  those  slender  diaph- 
anous fingers  had  lost  nothing  of  their  dexterity, 
and  her  inventive  faculty  was  still  fertile  as  of  yore. 
Never  was  there  a  daintier  toy  than  the  miniature 
fortress  she  cut  out  in  cardboard, — a  feudal  castle, 
complete  in  every  detail.  But  my  heart  grew  heav- 
ier with  each  visit,  for  the  apparent  improvement 
in  hor  health  was  but  illusive, — the  flicker  of  a  dying 
candle  ere  it  be  extinguished. 

When  the  last  parting  came,  she  was  just  seven- 
teen, and  so  sweet  and  pure,  she  looked  fit  for 
Heaven  indeed,  as  she  waited  patiently  for  the  sum- 
mons.   Her  eyes  grew  brighter  every  day,  her  nos- 

246 


MARIE 

trils,  transparent  as  alabaster,  dilated  and  quivered 
with  every  breath  she  drew,  and  the  smile  of  un- 
earthly sweetness  on  her  lips  was  like  a  perpetual 
leave-taking.  Earlier  in  that  very  year,  my  poor 
brother's  sufferings  had  at  last  ended,  and  now,  with 
the  knowledge  that  my  father's  days  were  numbered 
also,  I  must  lose  my  one,  my  best-beloved  friend ! 

Could  I  but  have  been  with  her  to  the  last !  But 
it  has  so  often  been  my  lot  to  be  condemned  by 
circumstances  to  go  from  the  side  of  those  whom 
I  loved  best  on  earth,  with  the  full  consciousness 
that  I  should  see  them  here  no  more.  Then  for  the 
first  time  that  bitter  experience  was  mine.  My 
father  was  ordered  to  a  milder  climate  for  his  health, 
so  in  October  we  all  set  out  for  Baden-Baden,  to  pass 
the  winter  there.  Once  more,  before  we  parted, 
Marie  and  I  resolved  to  be  photographed  together. 
I  held  her  fast  by  the  hand,  as  if  by  so  doing  I  could 
hold  her  back,  for  the  whole  time  while  the  photo- 
graph was  being  taken,  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  her, 
and  saw  the  ominous  quivering  of  the  nostrils,  that 
betokened  how  great  the  effort.  Quite  exhausted  by 
it,  she  lay  down  again,  and  I  sat  by  her  side  for  a 
while,  until  my  mother  fetched  me.  We  said  good- 
bye ;  and  then — "You  will  turn  round,  will  you  not," 
she  said,  "my  Lisi,  at  the  door,  and  look  back  at 
me  once  more!"  And  I  did  turn  round,  and  look 
back  at  her  smiling,  though  my  heart  was  like  to 
break,  and  once  outside,  I  had  to  lean  against  the 
wall  to  steady  myself,  so  shaken  was  I  by  choking 
sobs.  And  there  stood  her  poor  mother,  and  looked 
at  me,  with  tearless  eyes.     Such  silent  misery  I  have 

247 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

never  seen  in  any  other  countenance.  This  was  the 
fourth  of  her  children  whom  Frau  von  Bibra  must 
see  pass  away,  and  since  the  death  of  Max  she  had 
been  an  invalid  herself.  She  might  have  been  an- 
other Niobe,  white  as  marble,  with  all  the  life  and 
light  spent  in  her  big  dark  eyes,  of  a  velvety  soft- 
ness, like  rich  brown  pansies.  Both  parents  were 
heroic,  but  whilst  the  unhappy  mother  bore  each 
fresh  blow  in  perfect  silence,  the  father's  resignation 
even  took  the  form  of  outer  cheerfulness,  that  did 
not  fail  him  now,  when  Marie,  his  darling,  was  being 
torn  from  him.  "Death,"  Herr  von  Bibra  was 
accustomed  to  say,  ' '  should  be  a  dear  friend  to  me ; 
he  has  been  such  a  frequent  visitor  in  my  house ! ' ' 

All  through  that  winter  I  wrote  each  day  to  my 
dear  Marie.  Then  towards  the  end  of  February 
came  worse  news,  that  she  was  suffering  from  fright- 
ful headaches,  ending  in  delirium.  This  lasted  a 
whole  fortnight,  during  which  she  was  always  fancy- 
ing she  saw  me,  and  calling  me  by  name.  "Ah!  she 
was  there,  my  Lisi!"  she  would  cry;  "if  we  could 
but  die,  all  of  us.  together,  and  fly  up  to  heaven 
where  the  others  are  waiting  for  us!"  And  the 
gates  of  Paradise  seemed  to  be  already  open  to  her, 
for  she  told  of  all  the  wonders  she  saw,  its  un- 
dimmed  glories,  and  the  flowers  that  never  fade — 
and  these  raptures  were  reflected  in  her  face.  The 
last  thing  I  sent  her  was  a  little  night-lamp  in 
biscuit-china,  like  a  tiny  chapel,  so  delicate  and 
fragile.  And  one  night  Baron  Bibra  wrote  me  these 
words: — "The  little  lamp,  whose  soft  light  seems  to 
plunge  our  souls  in  an  atmosphere  of  prayer  and 
holiness,  sheds  its  gentle  rays  over  my  child's  pale 

248 


MARIE 

still  face,  as  if  whispering  to  her  the  loving  thoughts 
of  her  who  sent  it!"  The  tears  rise  once  more  to 
my  eyes,  as  I  write  this.  As  if  the  five-and-forty 
years  that  have  passed  since  that  day  counted  for 
nothing!  It  was  a  heartbreaking  meeting  with  the 
poor  father,  when  shortly  after  this  he  came  to  see 
us  in  Baden;  and  terrible  again  was  the  return  to 
Neuwied,  to  find  their  house  desolate,  and  the  poor 
bereaved  mother,  more  Niobe-like  than  ever,  and 
her  big  velvety  eyes  still  strained  and  tearless! 
Meantime — hardest  ordeal  of  all  I  went  through — 
during  that  winter  of  anxiety  and  anguish  I  had 
been  obliged  to  go  to  my  first  ball,  in  order  that  my 
father  should  for  once  see  me  dance.  It  was  with 
endless  care  and  precautions  that  the  short  journey 
to  Karlsruhe  was  undertaken,  and  once  there,  every- 
thing that  friendship  could  do  for  him  was  done,  by 
those  truest  and  best  of  friends,  the  Grand  Duke 
and  Grand  Duchess  of  Baden.  Notwithstanding  all 
their  care,  he  of  course  coughed  for  the  rest  of  the 
night — but — he  had  had  his  wish — he  had  seen  his 
daughter  at  her  first  ball !  And  my  feet  felt  like  lead 
— were  as  heavy  as  my  heart,  which  ached  so  that  I 
knew  not  how  to  smile  and  look  well  pleased,  and 
enter  fittingly  into  the  amiable  small-talk  of  my 
partners.  How  unhappy  I  was,  and  how  the  old 
unhappiness  comes  over  me  once  more,  as  I  write 
this !  For  grief  and  joy  are  both  eternal,  but  grief 
so  much  more  violent  in  its  nature,  that  did  we  but 
rightly  consider  it,  our  one  aim  should  be,  to  bring 
some  joy  into  each  other's  lives,  to  sweeten  the  bit- 
terness that  must  needs  be  the  portion  of  all. 

It  was  the  very  violence  of  my  grief  that  helped 

249 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

me  through  the  next  few  months,  for  I  plunged 
headlong  into  work — there  was  no  other  way  for  me 
— studying,  practising — seven  hours  in  the  day 
sometimes — till  I  was  tired  out — anything  so  as  not 
to  have  to  think!  But  now  I  can  look  back  with 
gratitude  on  the  sympathy  shown  me  by  so  many 
friends,  and  remember  the  kind  and  feeling  words  of 
Monsieur  de  Bacourt,  Talleyrand's  former  secre- 
tary, when  he  learnt  the  death  of  the  friend  and 
companion  of  my  youth : — ' '  C  'est  bien  dur  de  ne  plus 
pouvoir  dire — te  rappelles-tu?" 

Next  year,  death  was  again  busy  in  our  midst. 
This  time  it  was  my  father  who  was  called  away. 
And  now  at  last  Baron  Bibra's  fortitude  gave  way. 
He  who  had  seen  with  almost  stoical  endurance  his 
children  go  before  him  to  the  tomb,  broke  down  com- 
pletely after  taking  his  last  farewell  of  the  friend 
of  a  lifetime.  To  that  long  unbroken  friendship,  a 
striking  testimony  was  furnished  in  recent  years  by 
the  simple  perusal  of  all  the  documents  signed  by 
both  during  Bibra's  tenure  of  office  in  my  father's 
lifetime.  From  studying  the  contents  of  these  dry 
deeds,  my  brother's  steward,  Baron  von  der  Recke, 
had  been  able  to  gather  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
his  predecessor's  character,  as  also  of  my  father's, 
and  of  their  mutual  affection  and  regard  for  one 
another.  I  marvelled  indeed  when  he  imparted  to 
me  the  result  of  his  researches,  and  some  of  the 
conclusions  he  had  drawn,  so  correct  were  they  in 
many  minutest  particulars.  I  learnt  from  this,  the 
truth  that  even  archives  may  contain,  with  their 
record  of  dull  dry  facts,  and  of  the  poetry  that  may 
sometimes  lurk  in  a  stiffly  worded  deed! 

250 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

In  telling  the  story  of  my  brother's  short  life,  I 
cannot  do  better  than  employ  in  the  first  place  the 
simple  words  of  his  faithful  attendant,  Mary  Barnes, 
who  for  seven  years  watched  over  him  devotedly 
night  and  day,  by  her  untiring  care  doing  much  to 
alleviate  the  pain  he  suffered  from  his  birth.  Her 
notes  begin  thus: — 

"Friday,  22nd  November,  1850,  the  anxiously  ex- 
pected treasure  entered  this  valley  of  sorrow.  The 
event  can  be  forgotten  by  none  who  were  present  on 
that  day.  For  some  time  past  but  small  hopes  had 
been  entertained  of  the  child  coming  into  the  world 
alive,  and  we  therefore  rejoiced  the  more,  when  after 
many  hours  of  pain  and  danger,  a  fine  boy  was  born. 
New  life,  new  hope  sprang  up;  but  the  joy  was  of 
short  duration,  to  be  transformed  only  too  soon  into 
lasting  sorrow.  Very  shortly  after  his  birth,  the 
poor  infant's  laboured  breathing  showed  that  all 
was  not  well  with  him,  and  this  led  to  the  discovery 
of  a  serious  organic  defect.  At  first  the  doctors  be- 
lieved that  this  could  be  remedied  by  a  slight  opera- 
tion, and  an  eminent  surgeon  was  sent  for.  Unfor- 
tunately he  arrived  too  late  to  operate  that  day,  and 
the  night  that  followed  was  a  terrible  one.  I  did  not 
think  it  possible  for  the  poor  babe  to  last  till  morn- 
ing; it  was  blue  in  the  face,  as  I  held  it,  all  night 
long,  upright  in  my  arms,  to  prevent  it  being  suffo- 

251 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

cated.  At  last  morning  came,  and  after  due  ex- 
amination, the  operation  was  fixed  for  eleven  o'clock. 
We  moistened  the  poor  child's  lips  with  a  few  drops 
of  milk,  as  it  had  not  sufficient  strength  to  take  the 
breast.  The  malformation  was  more  serious,  and 
the  operation  in  consequence  attended  with  far 
greater  difficulty,  than  the  doctors  had  foreseen. 
It  lasted  so  long,  and  left  the  tiny  patient  so  ex- 
hausted, we  hardly  thought  he  would  survive  it  many 
seconds.  His  whole  appearance  was  changed;  the 
skin  had  taken  a  dull  yellowish  hue,  and  the  little 
limbs  were  so  cold,  we  resorted  to  every  possible 
means  of  restoring  a  little  warmth.  This  state  of 
utter  exhaustion  lasted  for  twenty-four  hours,  dur- 
ing which  we  kept  moistening  the  lips  with  milk 
and  with  a  few  drops  of  a  resuscitating  medicine,  it 
being  the  opinion  of  the  doctors  that  could  we  but 
succeed  in  prolonging  life  for  a  few  hours,  all  might 
be  well  in  the  end. 

When  at  last  the  feeble  flame  of  life  seemed  to 
burn  a  little  more  steadily,  I  was  indeed  shocked  to 
see,  in  performing  the  little  sufferer's  toilet,  the 
awful  change  wrought  in  his  poor  little  tortured 
body.  He  seemed  to  have  dwindled  away,  to  have 
grown  so  small,  so  fragile,  that  one  feared  that  the 
lightest  touch  must  hurt  him.  He  did  succeed  in 
getting  a  little  sleep,  but  his  sufferings  were  inde- 
scribable, and  caused  him,  when  awake,  to  scream 
incessantly  night  and  day,  till  the  little  voice,  worn 
out,  became  weak  and  hoarse,  and  the  cry  ended  in 
a  feeble  moan,  whilst  the  baby  face  twitched  with 
pain.     Early  on  the  morning  of  the  tenth  day  he 

252 


Prince  Otto  zu   Wied 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

seemed  so  near  death,  that  the  ceremony  of  chris- 
tening was  gone  through  in  haste.  The  name  of 
Otto  Nicholas  was  given  him.  All  day  long  we 
thought  every  breath  must  be  his  last ;  and  yet  again 
he  rallied,  and  was  able  after  a  few  days  to  be 
nursed,  which  was  the  greatest  comfort,  as  it  often 
soothed  him  to  sleep. 

But  when  the  pain  was  too  violent,  nothing  was 
of  the  slightest  avail,  and  the  fits  of  screaming  it 
occasioned  had  other  ill  results.  And  so  the  days 
passed ;  in  alternations  of  more  or  less  violent  pain, 
for  he  was  seldom  altogether  free  from  it;  and  this 
of  course  retarded  his  growth  and  prevented  him 
from  gaining  strength.  He  remained  very,  very 
small,  with  a  sweet  little  pale  face,  and  big  blue  eyes, 
full  of  expression.  In  the  spring  I  was  able  to 
take  him  out,  and  hoped  that  might  strengthen  him. 
By  the  beginning  of  May  we  moved  to  Bonn,  for  him 
to  be  under  the  observation  of  the  surgeon  who  had 
performed  the  operation;  and  there  his  condition 
became  so  far  satisfactory,  that  he  seemed  to  begin 
at  last  to  grow  and  develop  in  a  normal  manner. 
The  terrible  fits  of  pain  still  continued,  for  although 
everything  that  could  be  was  done  to  alleviate  them, 
they  were  of  a  nature  that  rendered  all  human  suc- 
cour unavailing.  When  out  of  pain,  he  lay  perfectly 
still;  one  never  heard  him  laugh  or  coo  like  other 
babies.  And,  although  he  began  to  lift  himself  up 
and  take  notice  of  things,  his  growth  was  very  slow, 
and  the  cutting  of  each  tooth  almost  cost  him  his 
life.  When  he  had  to  be  weaned,  there  were  fresh 
dangers,  and  a  journey  to  England,  undertaken  to 

253 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

give  him  the  benefit  of  the  sea  air,  very  nearly- 
proved  fatal.  In  London  a  celebrated  physician 
was  consulted,  whose  opinion  absolutely  coincided 
with  that  of  the  doctor  in  Bonn,  both  affirming  that 
the  child  could  never  live  to  grow  up,  human  skill 
being  powerless  to  aid  in  such  a  case.  The  asses' 
milk,  however,  prescribed  by  the  London  doctor, 
proved  very  beneficial,  and  for  some  time  this  with 
arrowroot  formed  his  diet.  He  remained  a  very 
small  baby,  and  only  took  his  first  few  steps  on  his 
second  birthday,  having  also  made  no  attempt  at  all 
to  speak  up  to  that  time.  But  he  was  a  dear  sweet 
child,  with  eyes  that  looked  at  one  so  pitifully,  it 
was  as  if  they  were  imploring  help.  There  was 
something  in  him  quite  different  to  all  other  chil- 
dren. It  must  have  been  the  fearful  attacks  of  pain, 
in  which  several  hours  of  each  night  and  day  were 
passed,  that  gave  him  this  heavenly  expression.  In 
the  summer  of  1853,  we  went  to  Paris;  and  again 
the  poor  little  thing  was  at  death's  door  in  a  teeth- 
ing crisis.  He  was  not  yet  three  years  old,  but  the 
delirium  was  hardly  over,  when  he  insisted,  as  he 
lay  exhausted  on  his  bed,  that  all  the  servants  should 
come  in  to  see  him  for  a  moment,  and  it  was  touch- 
ing to  see  him  stretch  out  his  tiny  little  thin  hand  to 
each  in  turn,  telling  them  how  ill  he  had  been,  but 
that  he  was  getting  better!  It  took  some  time  after 
this  for  him  to  recover  his  strength  sufficiently  to  be 
able  to  walk  again." 

I  have  followed  thus  far  the  narrative  of  our 
good  Barnes,  giving  in  her  own  simple  language  an 
account  of  the  first  three  years  of  the  life  over  which 

254 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

she  watched  so  faithfully.  It  was  at  about  the  time 
when  these  notes  stop,  that  the  letter  of  a  friend 
staying  with  us  in  Paris,  describes  the  poor  child 
in  these  words: — "Little  Otto  seems  to  grow  smaller 
and  smaller,  and  he  is  always  suffering.  You  can- 
not think  what  a  dear  child  it  is, — much  too  good  for 
this  world!"  And  a  little  later  she  wrote: — "Otto 
is  marvellously  precocious,  his  mental  development 
is  quite  extraordinary,  he  is  altogether  an  ethereal 
little  being  I "  On  his  third  birthday  we  had  sent  out 
a  little  table  with  all  his  presents,  and  stood  round  it, 
eager  to  witness  the  expression  of  his  delight.  But 
he  could  only  say — "Is  all  that  for  me?"  as  he 
looked  at  each  thing  in  turn  with  big  wondering  eyes, 
and  it  was  only  a  month  later,  that,  looking  out  from 
the  window  at  the  children  walking  and  running  hap- 
pily in  the  Champs  Elysees,  he  asked: — "And  have 
those  little  children  really  no  pain?"  And  when 
he  heard  that  they  had  not :— ' '  Oh !  how  glad  lam!" 
he  exclaimed. 

When  he  was  four  years  old,  a  little  white  rabbit 
was  given  him,  which  became  his  greatest  pet,  his 
constant  companion,  following  his  little  master  about 
everywhere  like  a  dog,  and  licking  his  face  and 
hands.  The  only  time  I  ever  saw  Otto  give  way  to 
a  real  fit  of  despair,  was  on  one  occasion  when  he 
believed  that  his  dear  Bunny  had  burnt  itself.  The 
poor  little  fellow  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  with 
piercing  screams,  tearing  at  his  hair,  and  his  heart 
still  went  on  thumping  like  a  hammer,  long  after 
he  had  convinced  himself  that  his  beloved  playfellow 

255 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

had  really  met  with  no  harm.  The  faithful  little 
creature  outlived  its  master  just  a  year. 

Quite  early  the  poor  boy  had  begun  to  practise 
most  marvellous  self-control.  After  a  sleepless 
night,  he  would  walk  up  and  down  in  his  room,  with 
his  little  fists  clenched,  saying  from  time  to  time — 
' '  now  I  am  ready — now  I  can  go  in ! ' ' — until  he  felt 
that  he  was  sufficiently  prepared  to  appear  among 
the  rest  of  us  at  the  breakfast-table,  where  he  would 
take  his  place,  pale  as  death,  but  apparently  quite 
calm.  When  he  was  five  years  old,  he  began  learn- 
ing to  read,  and  also  to  join  Wilhelm  and  myself  in 
reciting  poetry,  as  was  our  custom  every  Sunday. 
In  this  he  soon  gave  evidence  of  quite  exceptional 
talent ;  from  simple  rhymes  and  fables  in  verse  pas- 
sing on  quickly  to  the  ballads  of  Schiller  and  Burger, 
and  these  he  declaimed  with  so  much  spirit  and  such 
a  rare  sense  of  humour,  that  it  was  a  treat  to  see  and 
hear  him. 

In  a  friend's  letter  of  April,  1855,  I  find  the  fol- 
lowing passage: — "Otto  is  really  touching;  all  day 
yesterday,  after  the  doctor  had  gone,  he  kept  repeat- 
ing— 'the  good  doctor  says  that  if  I  ate  no  bread,  I 
should  have  less  pain;  how  kind  of  him,  to  think  of 
what  would  be  good  for  me!' — This  is  what  he 
finds  to  say,  instead  of  a  word  of  complaint  at  being 
deprived  of  the  food  he  likes  best." 

He  very  soon  began  to  take  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  his  lessons — history  and  botany  above  all.  His 
tiny  fingers  were  very  skilful  in  arranging  and 
I  tasting  in  an  album  the  specimens  of  plants  he 
collected.    In  this  as  in  everything  else  his  keen 

256 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

sense  of  order  was  shown;  everything  belonging  to 
him  had  its  right  place,  and  was  kept  in  perfect 
order.  He  was  very  fond  of  flowers,  and  they  flour- 
ished under  his  care;  the  fuchsias  that  stood  in  his 
window  were  literally  covered  with  blossoms.  He 
began  Greek  when  he  was  seven  years  old,  and  Latin 
the  next  year.  Greek,  however,  always  remained 
his  favourite  study,  and  he  loved  to  recite  verses 
in  that  language.  One  day  a  lady  asked  him  to  let 
her  hear  him  say  a  Greek  fable.  "Why?"  he  asked 
rather  drily.  "You  would  not  understand  it  if  I 
did!"  "That  is  quite  true,  but  I  like  to  hear  the 
sound."  "Ah!  that  is  another  matter!"  and  he 
began  reciting  without  more  ado. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1858,  we  went  for  a 
little  tour  in  Switzerland  and  Northern  Italy.  Otto 's 
delight  at  all  the  wonders  he  saw  was  unbounded, 
and  his  manner  of  expressing  it  caused  general 
amazement.  ' '  That  cannot  be  a  child ! ' '  people  said, 
when  they  heard  him  reciting  verses  of  the  "Diver" 
by  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine,  and  again  quoting  appro- 
priate lines  of  Gcethe  and  Burger  in  the  valley  of 
the  Rhine,  at  that  moment  still  ravaged  by  recent 
floods.  Everywhere  guides  and  cicerones  turned  to 
him  with  their  chief  explanations,  his  eager  ques- 
tions and  intelligent  little  face  with  the  big  bright 
eyes  showing  the  deep  interest  he  felt.  In  Milan 
his  enthusiasm  was  aroused  by  the  life  of  S.  Charles 
Borromeo.  Noticing  this,  the  priest  who  was  guid- 
ing us  round  the  cathedral,  and  who  could  speak 
a  little  English,  took  Otto  by  the  hand,  and  addressed 
all  his  remarks  to  him.  Such  examples  of  human 
17  257 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

grandeur  always  excited  his  passionate  admiration, 
and  it  was  his  constant  dream,  one  day  to  leave  his 
mark  in  the  world. 

On  our  return  to  Germany  that  same  year,  we 
spent  a  month  at  Freiburg,  and  it  is  from  here  that 
are  dated  some  of  my  brother's  most  characteristic 
letters,  to  a  little  friend  of  his  own  age — simple, 
childlike  letters,  by  no  means  free  from  mistakes,  but 
showing  a  most  remarkable  depth  of  thought  and 
precocious  intelligence  on  the  part  of  a  child  who 
had  not  yet  quite  accomplished  his  eighth  year. 

The  next  year,  up  to  the  autumn  of  1859,  was  the 
very  best  and  happiest  of  his  short  life,  and  during 
the  summer  we  soon  began  to  hope  once  more  that 
he  might  after  all  perhaps  get  well.  He  was  much 
out  of  doors,  able  to  work  in  his  own  little  garden, 
and  the  healthy  exercise,  the  life  in  the  open  air 
gave  him  for  the  moment  quite  a  blooming  appear- 
ance that  might  well  delude  us  with  false  hopes. 
None  who  saw  him  trot  about,  with  his  gardening 
tools  flung  across  his  shoulder,  his  little  face  flushed 
and  glowing,  beneath  the  straw  hat  perched  jauntily 
on  his  fair  curls, — no  one  who  saw  him  thus  could 
have  guessed  what  his  sufferings  had  hitherto  been, 
nor  have  suspected  how  soon  he  was  again  to  be  their 
victim.  For  that  short  period  his  appetite  im- 
proved, and  he  seemed  able  to  satisfy  it  without 
becoming  a  prey  to  the  agonising  pains  with  which 
the  digestive  process  had  for  so  long  been  almost 
invariably  accompanied.  During  the  harvesting  he 
was  in  his  glory;  sometimes  out  in  the  fields  for 
hours,  taking  an  active  part  in  the  proceedings,  and 

258 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

so  lively,  and  joyous,  and  full  of  fun,  it  did  everyone 
good  to  see  him. 

Thus  the  summer  went  by,  but  all  at  once  in  Oc- 
tober Otto  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  pain,  even 
more  violent  and  spasmodic  than  any  of  the  pre- 
ceding ones,  and  this  being  repeated  and  becoming 
of  very  frequent  recurrence,  a  great  specialist  was 
consulted,  who  declared  that  an  operation  was  neces- 
sary. This,  although  attended  with  considerable 
danger,  was  successfully  performed  in  March,  1860, 
the  long  and  painful  examinations  that  preceded  it, 
and  that  were  not  always  carried  out  under  anaes- 
thetics, having  been  most  heroically  borne.  But  the 
results  were  not  such  as  had  been  anticipated. 
Hardly  had  the  little  patient  left  his  bed,  before  the 
attacks  of  pain  began  again  with  redoubled  violence, 
to  the  consternation  of  the  doctors,  who  felt  their 
skill  completely  baffled  by  this  unexpected  occur- 
rence. 

The  sympathy  shown  by  the  good  townspeople  at 
the  time  of  the  operation  was  most  touching.  Some- 
times there  was  quite  a  little  throng  gathered  all 
day  in  front  of  the  iron  railings  before  the  Castle, 
to  hear  the  latest  tidings. 

I  have  told  of  the  deep  interest  the  dear  boy  took 
in  my  confirmation,  which  took  place  that  same  sum- 
mer. In  the  little  volume  of  the  "Imitation,"  which 
he  gave  me  on  that  day,  I  asked  him  to  write  a  few 
words,  and  without  a  moment's  pause,  he  took  his 
pen,  and  wrote  in  his  firm  clear  characters: — 
"Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of 
angels,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  sound- 

250 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

ing  brass,  or  a  tinkling  cymbal." — Otto.  The  gospel 
of  Love  had  passed  into  his  flesh  and  blood,  had 
become  part  of  his  inmost  being. 

Directly  it  was  possible,  his  lessons  had  begun 
again,  for  that  was  indeed  the  best,  the  only  means 
of  abstracting  his  thoughts,  diverting  them  entirely 
from  his  own  condition.  The  letters  that  I  have 
from  him,  during  a  few  weeks'  absence  from  home 
about  this  time,  point  to  the  extraordinary  self-com- 
mand he  had  attained,  whilst  they  also  display  most 
remarkable  and  varied  intellectual  interests.  In 
some  he  tells  me  of  his  botanical  studies  and  the 
experiments  in  horticulture  that  already  so  deeply 
interested  him,  in  others,  he  spoke  of  the  lectures  on 
Art  and  Literature,  which  it  had  been  arranged  for 
different  professors  to  give  for  his  benefit.  But 
Nature  and  her  works  he  loved  best  of  all,  and  I 
treasure  the  tiny  little  album  he  gave  me  about  this 
time,  in  which  specimens  of  various  mosses  were 
most  beautifully  arranged,  together  with  a  charming 
little  essay,  "My  Love  for  the  Leaves,"  a  complete 
dissertation  on  all  his  favourite  plants  and  trees, 
carefully  enumerated,  and  their  foliage  described  in 
every  detail. 

But  his  sufferings  grew  worse,  the  attacks  of  pain 
succeeding  one  another  more  frequently,  and  on 
Ascension  Day  of  that  same  year  every  faint  hope 
of  his  ultimate  recovery  was  taken  from  us.  The 
surgeon,  by  whom  the  last  operation  had  been  per- 
formed, discovered,  on  examining  him  again,  in 
addition  to  the  original  organic  trouble,  the  existence 
of  a  very  large  internal  tumour,  and  pronounced  that 

260 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

in  his  opinion  Otto  could  not  possibly  last  another 
year.  At  the  same  time,  my  father's  lungs  were 
subjected  to  thorough  examination,  with  the  alarm- 
ing result  that  in  his  case  also  the  doctor  declared 
no  hope  of  recovery  to  exist,  and  that  he  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  live  more  than  two  years 
longer.  Oh!  that  terrible  Ascension  Day!  what  a 
blight  was  cast  over  all  our  hearts !  And  the  fear- 
ful attacks  of  pain  went  on,  increasing  in  duration 
and  in  intensity,  and  giving  the  poor  child  an  oppor- 
tunity of  displaying  almost  superhuman  courage  and 
endurance,  above  all  in  his  constant  and  heroic 
efforts  to  hide  some  part  of  his  sufferings  from  his 
beloved  mother,  whose  anguish  was  indeed  almost 
unendurable.  But  between  the  paroxysms,  ever  the 
same  sweet  serenity,  even  cheerfulness,  and  an  im- 
mediate resumption  of  the  study  or  occupation  in- 
terrupted just  before.  His  activity  and  energy  were 
unbounded;  he  was  always  at  work,  either  carving, 
pasting  or  cutting  out ;  his  hands  were  never  at  rest. 
That  summer  brought  one  great  joy  to  the  poor 
little  invalid,  the  return  of  his  idolised  elder  brother, 
whose  course  of  study  had  caused  him  to  absent  him- 
self from  home  for  some  years,  and  who  had  mean- 
while developed  from  a  mere  schoolboy  into  a  tall 
youth.  Otto's  excitement  was  so  great,  that  for  the 
time  being  he  felt  no  pain.  Once  more  his  laughter 
resounded  through  the  house,  and  even  out  into  the 
woods,  where  we  lingered  till  quite  late  in  those  long, 
lovely  summer  days.  Once  more  it  was  quite  a  gay, 
lively,  youthful  party  that  collected  round  the  tea- 
table,  and  our  merriment  was  so  infectious  that  our 

261 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

elders  would  often  pause  in  their  serious  conver- 
sation to  listen  to  the  nonsense  we  talked,  and  join 
in  our  peals  of  laughter.  An  exhibition  of  cele- 
brated pictures  had  just  been  opened  in  Cologne, 
and  we  all  went  over  there  one  day  to  see  them. 
The  cartoons  by  Cornelius  attracted  Otto's  attention 
more  than  all  the  rest,  and  he  stood  for  a  long  time 
contemplating  the  one,  concerning  whose  subject  the 
rest  of  our  party — although  there  were  several 
scholars  and  artists  with  us — could  not  be  agreed. 
To  their  astonishment,  when  the  boy  at  last  took  his 
eyes  off  the  picture,  he  said  very  quietly — "I  know 
what  it  is ! "  and  proceeded  to  describe  in  every  de- 
tail the  scene  from  the  Odyssey,  which  it  did  indeed 
depict. 

So  long  as  his  brother  was  in  the  house,  Otto 
would  not  stir  from  his  side.  His  admiration  for 
the  big  elder  brother,  for  his  health  and  strength, 
was  most  touching,  and  it  was  refreshing  to  hear 
his  generous  outburst  of  indignation  at  any  remark 
he  considered  in  the  slightest  degree  disparaging 
to  his  idol.  Were  there  but  the  faintest  hint  of  criti- 
cism, he  would  blaze  up:  "Wilhelm  has  beautiful 
eyes  and  splendid  teeth,  and  is  very,  very  clever!" 
In  the  warmth  and  sincerity  of  his  heart,  he  could 
understand  no  grudging  affection,  no  measured 
qualified  praise.  And  this  warm-heartedness  was 
probably  his  greatest  source  of  happiness,  providing 
him  with  more  glad  hours  than  might  well  have  been 
deemed  possible  in  an  existence  so  fraught  with 
pain. 

Very  great  pleasure  he  derived  from  the  little 

262 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

farmhouse,  built  in  the  style  of  a  Swiss  chalet,  which 
my  mother  had  originally  planned  as  a  present  to 
him,  on  his  coming  of  age.  We  had  passed  many 
happy  hours  there,  but  in  the  autumn  of  1861,  he 
was  no  longer  able  to  ride  or  go  thither  on  foot, 
and  soon  even  the  movement  of  the  little  donkey- 
carriage,  in  which  for  a  time  he  drove  there  daily, 
also  became  unbearable,  and  one  evening  we  had  to 
pull  up  in  the  middle  of  the  wood  and  wait  till  a  litter 
was  brought  on  which  to  carry  him  home.  It  was  a 
pitiable  sight;  the  little  motionless  body,  worn  out 
with  suffering,  stretched  on  the  litter  and  borne 
along  by  grave  silent  men,  while  the  flickering  moon- 
beams darting  through  the  branches  shed  an  un- 
earthly light  over  the  small  white  face,  and  overhead 
night-hawks  and  screech-owls,  circling  round  the  sad 
little  procession,  filled  the  air  with  their  jarring 
cries. 

From  the  following  October  he  could  not  walk 
at  all,  and  was  carried  about  everywhere  in  a  little 
arm-chair,  which  was  fastened  on  a  litter.  In  this 
manner  he  was  brought  to  table  or  taken  out  into 
the  woods,  where  he  would  lie  for  hours,  resting  on 
his  right  side,  with  the  dead  leaves  falling  thickly 
round  him.  After  this  he  was  never  again  able  to  lie 
either  on  his  back  or  on  the  left  side.  The  course 
of  his  illness  after  this  I  find  described  in  my  letters 
to  my  absent  brother  Wilhelm,  a  few  extracts  from 
which  I  give  here.  .  .  .  "Otto  suffered  fright- 
fully yesterday  all  day  long,  and  was  almost  beside 
himself  at  the  slightest  movement  in  the  room. 
.    :    .    Sleep  can  only  be  obtained  by  means  of 

263 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

laudanum.  .  .  .  He  seems  to  grow  more  and 
more  loving  towards  us  all;  I  have  never  seen  such 
depth  of  feeling  in  another ;  there  is  a  strange  depth 
in  the  big  serious  eyes,  that  appear  to  be  untouched 
by  the  sufferings  of  the  frail  body.  The  other  day, 
as  I  sat  beside  him  in  the  wood,  he  said  many  such 
touching  things,  winding  up  with  accusing  himself 
of  cowardice,  in  taking  laudanum  to  procure  relief 
from  pain.  I  could  only  comfort  him  by  reminding 
him  that  it  was  not  of  his  own  free  will  he  took  it, 
but  to  please  others.  .  .  .  For  the  last  two  days 
Otto  has  stayed  in  bed  altogether.  .  .  .  The 
agony  he  has  suffered  is  indescribable;  it  wrings 
one's  heart  to  witness  it.  .  .  .  Mamma  has  been 
letting  him  know  the  truth  about  his  condition, 
thinking  that  it  must  comfort  him  to  know  that  his 
suffering  will  soon  be  over.  But  at  first  he  wept  at 
the  thought  of  parting  with  her,  saying  that  he  could 
not  bear  it.  Then  he  grew  calmer  and  discussed  the 
matter  quite  quietly.  He  told  mamma  yesterday 
that  he  wished  to  be  buried  in  Monrepos,  under  the 
old  trees,  with  a  white  cross  at  the  head  of  his  grave, 
and  quantities  of  flowers  planted  on  it.  Then  he 
went  on  to  ask,  if  in  the  life  beyond  he  should  see 
all  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  and  Socrates  above 
all — and  also  if  he  should  still  see  mamma — sitting 
in  her  chair,  just  as  she  was  then! — "I  hope  so,  my 
child!"  she  told  him.  .  .  .  Papa  is  a  little  bet- 
ter. He  came  down  yesterday  for  the  first  time  for 
three  weeks.  The  meeting  was  a  touching  one; 
papa  himself,  worn  to  a  shadow,  looking  down  so 
anxiously  on  the  poor  little  pale  face,  that  was  gaz- 

264 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

ing  with  rapture  up  in  his.  .  .  .  Otto  suffers 
more  and  more.  He  begins  to  have  hallucinations, 
sees  himself  surrounded  by  hideous  faces  that 
threaten  him.  .  .  .  He  seems  to  have  reached  a 
degree  of  pain,  beyond  which  it  is  impossible  to  go. 
His  sufferings  are  indescribable.  A  little  time  ago, 
he  said  he  had  to  pray  each  day  that  he  might  wel- 
come death,  for  the  thought  of  the  parting  was  still 
too  terrible  to  him;  but  now  he  begins  to  comfort 
himself  with  the  thought  that  there  is  no  real  separa- 
tion, and  to  rejoice  that  he  may  at  last  rest  and  be 
free  from  pain.  And  he  has  been  giving  all  his  in- 
structions, telling  us  his  wishes,  and  always  coming 
back  to  the  provision  to  be  made  for  his  own  two 
special  attendants.  .  .  .  Each  new  day  is  worse 
than  the  last.  .  .  .  Once  he  cried  out: — "I  can- 
not bear  it!"  but  when  mamma  said: — "Yes, 
we  will  bear  it  together ! ' '  he  grew  quieter  and  mur- 
mured— "Father,  Thy  will  be  done!"  .  .  . 
Although  the  doses  of  laudanum  are  constantly  be- 
ing increased,  he  sleeps  very  little,  the  pain  is  too 
agonising.  ...  Of  mamma  I  say  nothing.  What 
she  suffers,  she  keeps  to  herself ;  she  says  sometimes 
she  feels  as  if  a  saw  were  at  her  heart,  being  slowly 
drawn  backwards  and  forwards." 

Otto  had  always  taken  special  pleasure  in  follow- 
ing the  mental  development  of  the  lives  he  read 
about.  He  found  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that 
the  activity  of  the  spirit  can  neither  be  blighted  nor 
repressed.  Every  fact  or  occurrence  that  seemed 
to  bear  on  this  theory  interested  him;  the  story  of 
Kasper  Hauser  was  a  case  in  point,  and  delighted 

265 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

him  greatly,  whilst  the  inactive  life  of  the  poor 
young  Duke  of  Reichstadt  was  simply  incomprehen- 
sible to  him — "To  live  to  be  twenty-two, — and  have 
done  nothing!"  he  would  exclaim,  almost  im- 
patiently. 

There  seemed  at  one  moment  to  be  danger  of  his 
being  too  severe  in  his  judgment  of  others,  but 
directly  my  mother  pointed  this  out  to  him,  he  saw 
his  mistake  and  took  pains  to  avoid  it. 

To  the  last  his  spirit  remained  active,  and  in  the 
intervals  of  pain  he  was  always  busily  employed. 
Close  beside  his  pillow,  near  the  little  Testament  that 
never  left  him,  lay  a  case  of  the  different  instru- 
ments he  used  for  painting  and  carving,  and  with 
them  he  fabricated  all  sorts  of  pretty  things  for  us 
all.  His  strong  sense  of  the  beautiful,  of  grace  and 
harmony,  never  deserted  him,  neither  did  the 
humour  with  which  he  had  so  often  enlivened  us. 
After  the  fiercest  attack  of  pain,  whilst  all  around 
him  were  still  overcome  by  witnessing  his  struggles, 
he  would  suddenly  make  some  witty  remark,  and 
would  not  rest  content  till  he  had  brought  us  all  to 
join  in  his  laughter. 

But  the  pain  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  he  was 
so  weakened  by  it,  that  on  his  eleventh  birthday 
we  dared  to  hope,  that  before  the  day  was  over,  he 
would  be  keeping  it  in  Paradise.  We  had  brought 
him  flowers,  and  some  of  them  we  strewed  over  his 
bed,  and  wreathed  around  his  pillow,  and  it  might 
have  been  in  his  last  slumber  that  he  was  lying 
there,  so  silent  and  still,  and  the  sheets  no  whiter 
than  his  wan  white  face.    But  that  mercy  was  not 

266 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

yet  granted  him;  there  was  still  much  more  suffer- 
ing in  store.  A  month  later  came  my  eighteenth 
birthday,  and  directly  I  came  to  see  him  in  the 
morning,  he  pulled  out  from  under  his  pillow  a  tiny 
marble  slab,  on  which  notwithstanding  the  awkward 
position  in  which  he  lay,  he  had  contrived  to  paint  in 
water-colours  the  words :  ' '  God  is  love. ' '  When  he 
gave  it  me,  we  could  only  throw  our  arms  round  one 
another  and  cry  together.  The  night  before  he  had 
made  the  remark,  that  whatever  presents  he  now 
gave  must  be  of  a  lasting  nature. 

For  on  account  of  the  last  few  dreadful  weeks, 
during  which  his  illness  made  rapid  strides,  I  turn 
to  letters  written  by  me  at  the  time,  and  copy  a 
few  pages. 

"December,  1861. — Our  preparations  of  Christ- 
mas are  being  made  with  more  than  usual  care,  so 
that  the  festival  may  be  keptwith  all  due  solemnity, — 
for  the  last  time,  as  we  well  know,  that  we  shall  all 
celebrate  it  together  on  earth.  .  .  .  Papa  is  very 
weak,  and  the  fits  of  coughing  are  almost  intermit- 
tent. With  him,  as  with  Otto,  it  is  only  a  question 
of  time.  .  .  .  Christmas  Eve  was  very  solemn 
and  peaceful  and  beautiful :  the  few  days  preceding 
it  had  been  exceptionally  good  and  free  from  pain, 
so  that  Otto  could  be  wheeled  into  the  room  where 
the  Christmas-trees  stood  ready,  and  it  was  touching 
to  see  his  little  face,  beaming  with  happiness,  when 
the  trees  were  lighted  up,  and  the  Christmas  hymn 
sung  as  usual,  by  the  whole  household,  led  by  me 
from  my  accustomed  place  at  the  organ.  .  .  . 
But  since  then  he  has  had  two  very  disturbed  nights, 

267 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

and  the  dreadful  attacks  of  pain  have  begun  again. 
.  .  .  'Keep  calm!'  he  called  to  mamma,  after 
one  of  these, — 'it  is  only  the  body  that  suffers, 
nothing  of  this  can  hurt  the  soul!' 

"January,  1862. — Yesterday  he  thought  he  was 
dying,  and  took  leave  of  us  all,  but  when  he  saw 
mamma's  tears,  he  again  found  strength  to  comfort 
her.  The  night  that  followed  was  a  dreadful  one; 
the  sensation  of  suffocation  so  intense  that,  ex- 
hausted as  he  was,  he  sometimes  stood  upright  in  bed 
in  the  effort  to  breathe.  .  .  .  And  through  it 
all  his  patience  and  resignation  are  inexhaustible, 
and  his  affection  for  mamma  and  each  one  of  us 
seems  only  to  grow  stronger.  .  .  .  The  fits  of 
pain  are  now  so  frequent,  even  mamma  no  longer 
keeps  count  of  them.  Last  night  she  had  to  give 
him  twenty-one  drops  of  laudanum.  .  .  .  We 
pray  that  the  end  may  be  near.  To-day  his  eyes  are 
quite  dim,  and  he  can  only  bear  that  we  speak  in 
whispers.  .  .  .  But  his  first  thought  is  still  for 
mamma,  and  he  says  she  is  much  more  to  be  pitied 
than  he.  ...  It  was  her  birthday  yesterday, 
and  Otto  was  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  He 
gave  her  a  flower-stand  and  a  little  casket,  which  he 
had  himself  designed.  One  could  see  the  efforts  he 
made  to  appear  cheerful,  whilst  hardly  for  one  mo- 
ment free  from  pain.  (He  gave  orders  at  the  time 
for  another  present,  for  a  surprise  to  his  mother  on 
her  next  birthday.  She  received  it  eleven  months 
after  his  death!)     .     .     . 

"February. — His  strength  seems  to  be  ebbing. 
.     .     .     His  one  prayer  is  that  he  may  die  in  full 

268 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

consciousness.  Another  respite.  .  .  .  Then  a 
new  and  worse  pain.  The  poor  child  is  being  slowly 
tortured  to  death.  .  .  .  Sometimes,  in  his  agony, 
cries  of  despair  are  forced  from  him,  and  then  again 
he  can  talk  with  the  utmost  composure  of  the  blessed- 
ness awaiting  him  when  the  last  struggle  is  over. 
.  .  .  We  had  a  visit  from  Professor  Perthes,  who 
sat  for  some  hours  in  Otto's  room,  talking  to  him 
and  Uncle  Nicholas.  The  Professor  was  so  much 
struck  by  the  invalid's  keen  interest  in  the  subject 
being  discussed,  and  his  clear-headed  practical  sug- 
gestions, that  he  exclaimed  on  coming  away  from 
him : — ' '  That  boy  is  not  going  to  die  yet ; — he  thinks 
and  feels  like  a  grown-up  man ! ' '  But  a  little  later, 
after  witnessing  one  of  the  cruel  paroxysms  of 
pain,  our  friend  also  was  convinced  that  this  ma- 
tured intelligence  he  had  just  been  admiring,  only 
betokened  that  the  soul,  purified  and  ennobled  by 
suffering,  was  already  ripe  for  a  better  world. 
.  .  .  The  weakness  increased.  All  day  yesterday 
and  all  night  long,  he  lay  with  his  hands  clasped  in 
prayer,  murmuring  feebly: — "When  will  the  hour 
of  release  come?  when  will  the  Angel  of  Peace  ap- 
pear, to  bear  me  away?"  His  piety  and  resignation 
never  fail  him  for  one  moment.  .  .  .  His  hands 
are  cold  as  ice,  his  brow  like  marble,  his  eyes  sunken, 
but  still  bright  with  intelligence.  .  .  .  One  even- 
ing he  complained  that  he  could  no  longer  rightly 
distinguish  our  faces.  Over  his  poor  little  wasted 
face  the  shadow  of  death  is  already  creeping,  but  he 
is  strangely  beautiful  with  it.  .  .  .  Yesterday, 
Monday,  as  we  sat  as  usual  round  him,  he  slowly 

269 


FROM  MEMORY'S  SHRINE 

stretched  out  his  poor  feeble  arms,  exclaiming  joy- 
fully:— "Well,  then,  if  this  is  to  be  the  end,  fare- 
well to  you  all!"  And  his  expression  was  raptur- 
ous, as  he  bade  us  each  good-night,  and  prayed  for 
blessings  on  us.  .  .  .  But  even  then  it  was  not 
over    .     .     .     ." 

The  agony  lasted  two  days  longer.  He  seemed  to 
sleep,  but  woke  from  time  to  time  with  a  cry  of 
anguish.  He  could  no  longer  speak,  though  he  still 
saw  and  heard  everything,  and  gave  signs  that  he 
understood.  Then,  at  the  very  last,  after  a  few 
broken  accents,  came  the  rattle  in  his  throat,  and  the 
one  word  "Help!"  loud  and  clear.  And  then  a 
deathly  silence.  And  mamma  bent  over  him  and 
murmured — "Thanks  be  to  God!  His  name  be 
praised  for  evermore!" 

The  struggle  was  over.  Peace  and  heavenly  calm 
spread  themselves  over  the  tired  features,  and  a 
sweet  smile  played  about  his  lips — the  deep  line 
across  the  high  forehead  alone  showing  how  dearly 
this  peace  had  been  purchased. 

Our  dear  Otto  looked  like  an  angel  sleeping  there ; 
we  could  scarce  tear  ourselves  away  from  him.  My 
mother  kept  saying — "How  quietly  he  rests!"  and 
if  anyone  sobbed  on  coming  into  the  room — "Hush! 
hush!"  she  said,  "do  not  disturb  my  child!"  With 
our  own  hands  we  placed  him  in  his  last  little  bed, 
and  covered  him  over.  The  old  clergyman  from 
Biebrich,  by  whom  the  benediction  had  been  spoken 
at  my  parents'  marriage,  now  pronounced  the  last 
blessing  over  their  beloved  child. 

270 


MY  BROTHER  OTTO 

Otto's  best  epitaph  is  contained  in  a  letter  from 
my  father  to  an  intimate  friend,  which  concluded 
thus:  "  ...  On  a  little  rising-ground  not  far 
from  Monrepos,  he  sleeps  his  last  sleep  in  the  shade 
of  the  old  linden  trees.  But  he  lives  on  forever  in 
our  memory,  and  this  living  remembrance,  this  com- 
munion with  the  dead,  is  our  last  best  heritage,  by 
which  in  the  midst  of  the  heavy  loss,  we  are  yet 
made  rich  sempiternally. " 


]":;;,ll"HlHNH[GIONAl  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  913  983    3 


